Barnaby Joyce is one hell of a guy,
Well, a hell of a politician, few can deny,
He has stepped out on his wife and four kids,
Blame ‘True Love’ not lust, for a career on the skids.
Will his conservative voters forgive his moral flaws?
Shouldn’t a Catholic living in carnal sin not give him pause?
Siring a secretary’s sprog out of wedlock’, he’s pushing it, rather.
Sadly, Barnaby can’t help it if his new kid has a bastard for a father.
As the stock market hit astronomical heights
Donald loudly and proudly took bragging rights,
Came February First and the worm began to turn;
Walls and Wall Street falling cause Don grave concern.
You know The Donald’s feeling sick
When he turns down the rhetoric.
Suddenly Donald’s loquacious lip is zipped,
His air as morose as that at the family crypt,
Donald’s brown study is as silent as a tomb,
A place of rare quiet contemplation, we assume?
Donald is rarely at a loss for something to say,
But Trump stock falling takes his breath away.
When Don’s face and the Dow continued to drop
His self-congratulatory words trundled to a stop,
From the Oracle, the one true prophet comes ‘nary a peep,
Dons sycophants wonder how long he’ll let his dumbness creep?
With his ego though, the silence will be all too brief,
But hasn’t this pause come as a blessed relief?
Here at Fox the truth is told,
We cling to the standards of old,
We ALERT you of freedoms under attack,
We’re proud to have our great Presidents back,
We mean the right one, not the one who’s bla… Barrack.
Some say we’re racist, but to be fair
Only poor folk benefit from Obamacare,
Now, under our highly esteemed President
That money that would’ve been poorly spent
Can go to tax cuts for Dons deserving one percent.
Its for OUR flag and country that we stand-
For a place for (w)all in this, OUR Great land,
We listen- too patiently- to those who try us,
Damn loathsome Liberals, the unrighteous and impious,
Unpatriotic Lefty immigrant lovers who accuse us- US! of bias.
What’s a poor werewolf to do
When his world and the moon turns blue?
As in this mind the lunacy surges
And the brain is beset by unsavoury urges?
I can’t help but prowl the night
And hope my bark’s worse than my bite,
But to my nature I’ve been true
And clearly bitten off more than I can chew.
This rare blood moon has ramped up my compulsion
And ‘neath its light I’m filled with revulsion,
When it comes to regrets, quite Frankly, I have a few,
Its an issue, like this leg tissue, I’m working through
If I’m ever caught I’ll be Wormwoods bound
Or perhaps, more humanly, the Battersea pound?
My beastly hair-raising episodes I do deeply rue
So I’m keep ’em tightly leashed for a week -or two.