On the eve of his ascension to the crown of Hauterania, the Queen Mother instructs young Prince Barack, in iambic pentameter no less, how to conduct himself in a manner worthy of his noble ancestors. In a quiet, sincere and whispery voice she says,

To be the King of all that one surveys
And rule the masses well and bear their pain
To set no cost on fairness one purveys
And never use your crown for private gain
To do these things and graceful do them well
To be the father mother of the realm
Then at the tolling of the vesper bell
The bards will sing of he who had the helm
Your best must be the best that best can be
Make proud the ghosts who live yet in your bones
Remember that you rule the land and sea
And teleprompters give words golden tones
A King must be polite yet strong and firm
Must take no sass from councilor or priest
You rule for life, no limit on your term
And revel in your name, Barack the Least