Pure Solid Pyrite.*
Whatever happened to the good ol' Conservative?
Those who serve their country, long as they may live?
Those who yearn to not take it all, but to humbly give?
Where now are those leaders, those ol' salts of the earth?
Who knew the the value of sweat, what hard work is worth?
Why would one revere this man, made a billionaire by birth?
Good ol' values long gone, now old dirty money talks,
Nowadays it's 'carry a big stick, smack anything that walks,'
Around the tower of power the Big Bad Boogeyman still stalks.
There's a statue of Trump proudly displayed at CPAC?
The old bold gold-plated Tin God is mounting a comeback!
Can't the eyes of the wise perceive something's out of whack?
Behind his thin skin of gilt'n'glamour lies a cold heart of brass,
A false idol with tons of bullshit bullion but not an ounce of class;
Still fools bow low, blinded by the shine of this massive stuck-up ass.
*Pyrite: AKA Fools Gold.
Well, doesn't Ted Cruz just take the cake?
Taking time off in Cancun for a winter break?
What a tropical hot spot Teddy has chosen
Especially when his home state is frozen.
Well, doesn't Ted Cruz's thinking take some beating?
His one day in the sun sure feels all too fleeting,
Now he's back, flush faced, looking none too thrilled
About getting grilled over leaving his constituents chilled.
Well, doesn't Ted Cruz's excuses take out first prize?
His taking a sojourn down South wasn't too wise,
'Protect our Great borders' strikes a dry hollow note-
Those Washington speeches now stick in his throat.
Well, doesn't Ted Cruz's cool logic simply take it all?
Once happy to build on and bolster Don's border wall,
Now with the frosty reception our border jumper's getting
His thoughts turn toward re-election- boy, now he's sweating.
The impeachment trial of Don's January actions
Is seen vastly differently by the two rival factions,
Democrats are all for piling on now departed Don-
They want him impeached and legally real real gone.
Republicans are all too happy to forgive and forget-
Stirring up Trump's mad mob can still cause regret,
Evil is seen heard and said, but they'll keep on denying,
Those simple silent Republican jurors are hardly trying.
Morning Has Woken.
Isn't it great to wake with a smile in the morning
And find the world's not facing another Armageddon?
That trusted policy hasn't flipped without warning,
There's no mobs clogging the streets he's wittingly egged on?
Isn't it a great comfort knowing there's a calm hand on the tiller,
To not be Bermuda Triangle bound, led by a First Class egocentric,
Back on a course charted by someone with a functioning Amygdala
Not by some Captain Crazy, sailing in circles increasingly eccentric?
Isn't it great to gratefully head happily to bed at night
Knowing in ten minutes you'll be peacefully snoring?
That yesterdays fading red dawn is turning blue and bright,
The days will be quiet, safe, secure and delightfully boring?
Isn't it great to not wake with the cold sweats
Without night terrors brought on by ghastly Tweets?
Not dry-heaving with gut-wrenching tummy upsets
With no further need for Laudanum or rubber sheets?
Snakes On A Plane.
His final flight is ready to take off,
The ex-President is set to snake off,
His eyes look out, dark, cold, reptilian,
Farewell, you contemptible low con man.
Fly away to your welcome in Mar-A-Lago,
Fly, fly off, off to to your hidey-hole you go,
Go to ground, wait for the storm to pass...
Natural, for an old snake in the grass.
A man is known by the company he's among,
So visitors, cock an ear for a f-f-forked tongue,
Hisss twisted words hark back to original sin,
And he sheds friends as he does his thin skin.
So Don, slip out and lay back 'neath the Florida sun,
Relax, uncoil, your long retirement has just begun,
Or scale back the sun bed regime, let down your hair
Then slither under a rock and stay- at home- there.
‘Warning- Contains Lingering Traces Of Venemous Vitriol.’
(A few thoughts from a member of Michigans moronic Militia while waiting on a lawyer.)
Just A Zealous Guy.
We can't have mobs roaming, owning the streets
Upsetting our noble brave boys in blue-
Unless they're brave knights wearing white sheets
Gathered there to protect the Right and true.
Unlike the good ol' ones these days are passing strange,
I see the sea change, it's blowin' a gale,
Seeing foreign faces not welcome in my home on the range,
They leave me looking a whiter shade of pale.
I don't want to hear or see all the signs of the times-
But I do hate to see Democrats legally elected,
I do believe in Mr Trumps brave assertion of ballot crimes
And that our Confederate flag is horribly disrespected.
I believe nowadays we hear too much colourful chatter,
I believe some folks just best shut their mouth,
I can't help but take a dim view of Black Lives Matter,
This proud North Michigan boy sez 'Go back South.'
So, since the law abiding Michigan voters don't know no better
And our redneck misogynistic feelings she's assaulting
We're gonna go get Governor Gretchen, leave a ransom letter;
Surely our founding fathers wouldn't call this revolting?
Strange, now I'm down in lockdown but atop the FBIs hot list
Yet I'm Right and white, so it all feels grossly unfair,
I'm feeling uneasy about getting stuck in a cell with a real terrorist,
This could be this sad-ass Aryans worst nightmare.
As a bit of silly fun there’s four song titles tossed into this. Artists are Bing Crosby (plus many others) Procol Harum, Harry Styles, Pug Jelly. If you’re bored, go figure. (Yes, Bonny Brian, a blatant musical rip-off; I feel no guilt…)
Once again Mr Trump’s re-election campaign
Is giving Neil Young cause to legally complain,
Neil’s getting grumpy that his copyrighted songs
Are being illegally played to promote Don’s wrongs.
Shouldn’t one of Don’s army of attorneys kindly explain
To Don that old Young’s tunes ain’t in the public domain?
All the plaintiff Neil wishes is for Don to cease and desist
From ripping his songs off and on to Don’s lousy party list.
The Rolling Stones have led the chorus of complaints, in vain,
‘You can’t always get what you want’ remains Trump’s refrain,
Don, use Ted Nugent’s crap, Teddy loves you, or ask Kanye West-
No, mebbe not, the colourful Kanye mightn’t pass Don’s litmus test.
Will Donald simply turn his back on all noisy complaints again?
Treat true legitimate protests with his usual dismissive disdain?
Well, the Rolling Stones have screamed at Don to stop for years-
It appears there isn’t a great deal resonating between dumb ears.
Sometimes when you wake up feeling sad and blue
On a rare blue moon when doubt bedevils even you,
When the wife’s heart feels cold, the future looks bleak
It’s time to lay your burden down and stand up and speak.
Don is prepared to bare his very soul- if he must,
Though heeding others opinion fills him with disgust.
‘Hello, my name is Donald and I’m a Selfish Neurotic,
Though those in my party prefer the term ‘quixotic,’
And now, as I think back on four hard fraught years
Thinking of a future past November brings me to tears.’
‘Why, suddenly no-one wants to be my Bestie?
Now all my good ol’ boys and Yes-men detest me.’
It’s a rare privilege seeing this side of Donald J. Trump,
In many a throat there his mawkish tale raises a lump,
There he stands, a broken man with his token friends
Ever deeper into self-pitying he maudlinly descends.
‘So, everybody dislikes me because of my personality?’
For once everyone freely agrees with Don, like, totally.
A day after another inauspicious red letter day-
150,000 Coronavirus victims went on their way-
Donald turns away from figures that make him squirm
And focuses his GreaT mind on securing a second term.
Dons polling is of concern, despite what he does say,
From where he sits perhaps its time to kneel and pray?
Or since Roger Stone’s now free to come up with a suggestion
He’ll open the whole Democratic Election system into question?
In his empowered position Don feels a powerful need to stay,
So now’s no better time to suggest just a slight election day delay,
An election free of mail voting, who could think of anything greater?
Like his Pandemic plan Don vows he’s bound to get to it, sooner or… later.
What’s happening to the National Party’s leadership?
Each new leader they select sees the Party’s popularity slip,
Since Commodore Key left leaving First Mate Billy the wheel
Helming the Titanic rather than the Blue Boat holds more appeal.
Old Bill, wise but dull as dishwater- his fortunes sank,
So Simon stepped up from the poop deck to higher rank,
Sadly Simon was simply out of his depth, young and green,
Under Simon the the boat- and votes- slid down like a submarine.
All too soon ’twas a grim story poor Simons opinion polls told,
Up from the mutinous crew stepped Todd, and Simon was rolled,
So a new Cap’n took the helm, they say the cream rises to the top,
But after a mere 67 days Captain Presumptuous found he was a flop.
Now Todd’s dream boat has sailed,
Another Leader’s bottled it and bailed,
The True Blue Crew ran about, looking around
But good fresh new Blue blood’s thin on the ground.
Now hard embittered Old School Jude-vcious runs the barge,
Tryin’ to clean up her shit ship even as Deputy Gerry looms large,
In her steely claw the National scow’s bound to take a hard Right turn,
Losing middle ground rowing in ever decreasing circles- that’s her concern.