The Incredible Sulk- Don't Make Him Madder! The president is a poor lost soul, In two months he's bound to take a lesser role, But that day is a long way away And while he plagues this House the rat will play. For if he accepts he'll have to quit- And that'll take a bona fide miracle or legal writ- He'll blame some deep state plot Like QAnon's latest Ridickylous 'Believe It Or Not.' Don wants to have losers! votes dismissed, His
lapdogslawyers trot to court with a long long list, Trials into next year are the long term goal, Sadly, Judges dismiss 'em all with a quick eye roll. Don's crusty lawyer ain't doin' so GreaT, Bald faced lying while hair dye runs down his pate, He only wants Don'sthe truth to be discerned, So, as is his nature, Rude won't leave no rock unturned. SciFi Fantasies are fufogging up Don's days, His is a single minded focus that borders on malaise, With quarter of a million voters certified dead Who hopes Don takes a kickbreath to clear his head?
A Real Tear Jerking Soap Opera. Ever since blow-dry Don woke post election day The Golden Boy's looked washed out and gray, And though he will not go quietly into the night To see this
asssilver fox turn tail is a welcome sight. What happened to our old gold Don Juan Don? A cold reality shows his brash charm has gone, And after four seasons his shitshow is simply trying And his is a stinker of a final act, ain't no denying? Don's lost his "Suburban Housewives' Choice" popular vote, This poor actors star turn is done, and that's all she wrote, He's lost his gloss, he's now less desirable than Charlie Sheen, Our Greatest li'l boy lost burnt-out washed-up broken down big time small screen has-been.
Something's Going Off. When the early election votes rolled in Vainglorious Donald could not hold off, It was a result he alone had no doubt in So he prematurely started to spout off. He'd felt a winner, right from the run in, He'd never seen his term as just a one-off And when Don's on a roll, don't dare butt in, Like the polls Don has no automatic shut off. Oh, but what a dark day Don did waken in, In the wee wee hours Sleepy Joe had taken off, Since those blue post-its have begun to weigh in Don demanded those accountable take the day off. Now Don tossed every (ill)legal appeal in- Forget due process, Don wants this deal off, His base vote's left a hole big enough to piss in And suddenly he's getting a democratic kiss off. In Arizona and Nevada, states he gets flipped in Don is sweating, steaming and feeling ripped off, He'd been hoping for a red-hot Southwestern love-in, Now even Sweet
JesusGeorgia's telling him to shove off. From right to left, the tide and vote drifts in Till Don's glowering towering rhetoric lifts off, Language a drunken sailor would take delight in- Don's script writers hear a screw up, a total write off. Donald is in the White House and he's staying in- It looks like finding that ol' safe room's paying off- Ain't no better hidey-hole to hold out and obstruct in Though millions have told him it's time he fucked off.
Best Presents EVER. We'll non-too-soon be seeing the end of Trump/Pence Although Donald insists on living in the past tense, His denying of fact, lack of tact and simple common sense Means Don's childish tanTrumps still cause offence. Forget fighting Covid, Don's focusing on firing off viral comments And fragging his frazzled looking Secretary of Defence, Don has sworn- loudly- he'll not spare one single donors expense On recounting and courting his Supreme justice nonsense. So though it's early, let's now let our Thanksgivings commence, On till Christmas Eve fill the air with carols, joy and frankincense, Then roll on January, when ends a reign of dumb ignorance, Then we can all look forward to cool calm and quiet competence.
Last Do-si-doh! For Don. My old Grampap used to dance up a storm, Pops needed no invitation to get up and perform, A proper Yankee Doodle dandy life-long Democrat, He'd be on his twinkling toes at the drop of a top hat. It was only after Trump waltzed in four years back Pappy hung his tuxedo, hat and cane on the hat rack, Grampa knew he'd not be smiling or singin' in the rain Till that bull in a china shop slipped down the porcelain. No more doin' the Hand Jive complete with back flip, No more twistin' by the pool, risking poppin' out a hip, The best moon walker I'd seen besides Michael Jackson- Pretty damn fly for a white-haired geriatric Anglo Saxon. Pops thought his tap shoes and he were past their best, Now was the time to reminisce and wait for eternal rest, He set his La-Z-Boy to decline, settled down to Fred Astaire; Seeing Trump's
goosemiss-steps made his bed a pit of despair. Old Granpop wasn't up to doing the Hustle any more, More of a desperate shuffle towards the bathroom door, Nothing outside an atom bomb can get him up and about, He was just like Michael Flatley, all crapped and tapped out. For four long years poor Pop barely busted a move at all; Purely pitiful to watch a once Great Man's decline and fall, It pained Pop seeing Dancing Star Don waltz tango and foxtrot Effortlessly over democracy, to the stirring soundtrack of Fox rot. But, come a day of judgement, and before a live audience- Which star duo would win... Joe/Kam or Dunce/Subservience? Till on the fifth day of drama, before which Pop avidly sat glued Finally the vote was in, and left Donny feeling lost- and screwed . Gramps lifted up his blanket, sat on the edge of his seat Smiled, seeing Don getting his numb ass kicked by two left feet As Don rants and starts filling in injunctions (and his underpants) We're truly privileged to see Granpa's gleefully exuberant Riverdance. (Check out the odd tired musical reference in there? I'm exhausted, but still dancing on air.)
The Grand Old Soap Opera. I thought I'd briefly watch to see who'd be elected, Though half the time cable shows show total trash, But, switch left or right, whichever station I selected I found I was watching a classic American car crash. I shoulda coulda thought; Poor show. This pointless tragicomedy dragged on into the night, An all-too-familiar nonsensical plot, at a turgid pace, After my all-night marathon, no tiresome end in sight; It's a travesty of television to try to call this crawl a race. Long and overwrought. Sooo slow. Time had shown the car crash morphing into a train wreck, All happening in full painfully and frighteningly slow motion, So I turned off, tuned out, dropping the remote on that dreck, I'm no Einstein but I now know time standing still is no notion. Well and truly taught. I know. Now I wake up and see more molassesly moving melodrama, The dark reality being I wish I was back in the land o' dreams- I'm stuck deep in a GreaT stalemate as, quietly, Biden and Obama Watch Donny perform- no, it's not over while the fat boy screams. Order in the Court? Oh no.
What Haunts The White House? We're fast careering towards Halloween And a few days later we hope to have seen An end to the dispiriting Ghastly Horror of 2016. With a crucial election nigh Hopes for a change are frighteningly high, Pray we can exorcise the so-wrong Right guy. Don's sure to want someone to look At every way he can cook the rule book, He needs to win, by hook or by crook. The polling prospects for Don might look dire But his supreme self-belief one must truly admire- Plus his Supreme Court's now bound to back a liar. Though he doesn't really possess the ghost of a chance Still he's trying his damndest to deny any votes in advance, To tell the truth he's relying on flame-proof underpants. Should it be the will of the hoi polloi My whole face will be suffused with joy To see the golden boy become the orange boy. Then when the blue boy(!) is given the win I'll try my damndest to keep my joy deep within, But I guarantee no mask could hide my Cheshire grin.
In the Halloween camp– or spirit- here’s a jaunty little number.
(To the tune of Rocky Horror’s ‘I Can Make You A Man.’)
Can We Lose The Fake Tan? Weak-minded, criminally unsound, Will Don leave with red face When November 3 rolls around? Since his chances are slim Despite determined Fox spin To cover his multiple flaws He's privately packing his drawers, Still refusing to listen to his team And the unwelcome message That the four year bad dream Ends with Donald as a has-been. Don won't be here long, man. ('Cause he's the wrong man.) He's nasty and vicious, splenetically mean, He'll wallow, he'll beg, Bitch and blame postal workers- Accept mail-in votes, then renege Without second thought, But time's short, not-so-Great man, In just seven days You'll be a done deal, fake tan. He upset the queen, he royally f*cked up, Hopes to snatch victory, dirty devious jerk, He thinks democratic elections Will drive Putin berserk, Voters so unforgiving He plum cain't understand, So in just seven days Ciao baby, Make way for a better human.
A Kick To The Chorus.
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.
The Low Down.
When the stock market’s riding high
Who trumpets ‘that’s all thanks to me!’
Who’s the propheteer, who’s the Great guy
Who takes every credit, Hallelujah and praise be?
But when the market starts to falter
Like one dark wintry Wall Street afternoon
When stocks plunge, who is down at the alter
Demanding to know Who the hell changed his tune?
Now the Dow has taken a tumble,
Since his healthy markets caught a cold
Don’t expect Don to sound sorry or humble,
He has a whopping Great tale that must be told.
Since his Wall Street has fallen flat
And its hurt his vanity and bank vault
He’ll blame his ills on some sick Democrat-
If not Bernie or Bloomberg, then it’s Gods fault.
Donald is off on his latest low-down undertaking,
He needs money to fix a crisis, of his own making,
The Army of law’n’order fans of his border wall
Will now see Don pillaging Peter to pay Paul.
Building walls up was easy to say in an election run
But getting Mexico to pay is easier said that done,
He keeps calling about the millions of dollars they owe,
Not one ‘Hola’ has he got from the President of Mexico.
It matters not to Don that the funds are misappropriated
Or that real Democracy has been truly desecrated,
What do you expect when the megalomaniac you elect
Injudiciously, sadly, madly must get his vanity project?