Thing’s To Do In Ypsilanti When You’re Don.
Go up to Michigan,
Speak at some Ford plant,
Blame some Democrat, bitch again;
Usual unhinged rave and rant.
Typical meet and greet,
Broadly mug and smugly beam
While firing off another Waspish tweet;
Don’t my pearly wisdoms gleam?
Won’t wear no mask
Though it’s obviously more hygienic,
But this GreaT President’s overriding task
Is to remain nakedly photogenic.
I’m sat at the White House, all alone,
Oh, poor pitiful me,
Just me, at Christmas, I with my phone,
Oh, poor lonesome me.
Being Prez ain’t all tinsel and glitter
Even for wonderful me,
All I have is my GreaT thoughts and Twitter
To accompany me…
Yes, I’m missing out on Melania’s home-cooked meal
Which disagrees with me,
But fortuitously, I’ve worked out a hell of a deal
‘Tween McDonalds and me.
This Christmas I’ve no Kelly, no Mattis
To stifle magnificent me
On troops, policy and other trifling matters,
Oh, impulsive impetuous me.
Here I’m free from their ever-ongoing discussion
That soooooo bores me,
They might as well talk turkey in Chinese- or Russian,
It’s all Greek to me.
Here I’m free of constraints from one and all,
Free to think of only me,
As governments shut down, and my stocks fall
I sit here and ponder at the wonder about me.
Don likes Mike,
Don loathes LeBron,
They both dislike
Singularly unlikeable Don.
Is Donald a good sport when it comes to fun and games?
Not when he’s going tweet to tweet with LeBron James,
Don fakes, he twists, he spins to the Right- true to form;
Again poor sport Don has started a pointless twit storm.
Don’s Signature Magic Marker.
Don’t dare cross Dons unwelcoming border,
You’re crossing his line and his express order,
Donald wants your sort kept South of the wall,
He has zero sympathy for illegals, large or small.
But after Don separates mother and child
He finds he has zero tolerance for being reviled,
When his borderline cruelty becomes a national disgrace
Donald turns to his his rarely used caring compassionate face…
What was impossible for Don to rescind yesterday
With one wave of the presidential pen becomes child’s play,
If his freewheeling back-flips make his tweets hard to follow
How much tougher are his foot-in-mouth missteps to swallow?
Pardon My Presumption?
The poor hard done-by hounded witch-hunted president
is grateful his big-shot New York
shyster lawyer’s so prescient,
Rudy completely agrees with what Don’s said all along-
The president, or at least this one, can do no wrong.
There’s only one verdict that’s reachable,
This presidents word is unimpeachable.
Should some scandal appear wherin Don might be involved
Don can be pardoned by the president, and problem absolved!
It matters not one jot what evidence Mueller eventually presents,
Giuliani’s ‘Get Out Of Jail’ card gives his client a rock-solid defence.
God knows its a delusion to think he’ll ever resign
Now Don knows to err is human, to forgive, divine.
Lies In The Eyes Of The Beholder.
Donald was all for political leaks
In the elections frantic final weeks,
Then a whistle-blower was a patriot,
Now Donald is President, they’re not.
Since Donald’s butt is in the hot seat
All he does is bleat and Tweet,
Now Donald’s no whistle-blowers friend,
Demanding all this disloyalty must end.
Andy McCabe spoke out of turn
And is the latest one to learn
That Donald brooks no dissension
If you want to collect your pension.
Yes, it’s best for you to stay mute
About Donald and some massively cute
Woman he came accross on the golf course;
Don doesn’t want to cough up for a divorce.
No, best to keep that story hushed,
Don might emerge red and flushed,
When it comes to a marital moral lapse
Don is keen to keep it all under wraps.
Dons lawyer has done his expensive best
For Stormy to keep it close to her expansive chest;
Could Melania believe its all a storm in a double DD cup?
Don should’ve busted the bank to stop this going
ti-… belly up.
Such Sweet Sorrow.
It’s goodbye to Rex, ex Secretary of State,
The latest to find Don’s America ain’t so great,
He suspected Mueller, not he, would be going next,
But the Great Man fired him, and predictably, by text.
Could that be a tic twitching on his cheek?
From a weary eye do we see a teardrop leak?
How bravely Rex strains to remain comported
But his mask of a face seems strangely contorted.
Does old Rex look sad and forlorn?
Perhaps it’s my eyes, but I could’ve sworn
That only yesterday Rex looked much older,
A man bent of back and stooped of shoulder.
We haven’t seen this face of Rex for a while,
That glum morose face enlightened by a smile,
He used to always flash that slick oily smile once:
Where’s it been hiding for the last fourteen months?
Fit As A Fiddle.
Don’s taken his Medical and he has passed
Despite his penchant for eating his food fast,
He thinks he cuts a, if not fine, an imposing figure
Which he’s assiduosly working at making even bigger.
His trusted Doctor says Don is doing GreaT,
He’s given his grateful President a clean slate,
Don fairly flew through a test specifically designed
For a President possessing his particular state of mind.
All the Doc asks is for Don to take more exercise-
Forgo his nightly regime of stretching for french fries-
Normally Don wouldn’t pay heed to a White House minion
But one thing Donald doesn’t need is a damn second opinion.
No Doctors orders for Don when he takes to his bed,
He retains his healthy appetite for ordering in instead,
There’s nothing that makes another sub-par day complete
Than a tasty treat of fried chicken, followed by a greasy tweet.
A Word Or Two With The Doctor/King For A Day.
For all those worried if Donald’s not fit for work, do not be concerned,
The resident genius has been checked out, nothings been discerned,
The McDon is good to go, in brain, heart and other vital body parts,
Its a bona fide medical miracle, with his cholesterol off the charts.
A few do accuse our great President of no work and all play
Yet for Donald signing off on the fifteenth has been no holiday,
It’s grim indeed to see him publicly straining to stick to the script;
Words that, self evidently, privately would leave Trump tight lipped.