Rump
of Summer
Summer is dressed in her finest, a day spent on the
beach
Shoreline stroll in a black burkini, a walk out on the
reach
But fall arrives with a nightstick to roust out all
the crooks
Take it off gals or go back home, give those nuns the
hook
Donald Trump is off his meds, his rocker and the rails
Breitbart soars in media-world, alt-white the color of
its sails
Ugly game within a game, give Crooked Hillary the booby
prize
Trump aims higher, Orwell-land, where two plus two is
five.
Hillary Clinton wants my vote, got it stashed in a
pickle jar
They snuck in wearing bandit masks when I was at the
bar
Ransacked the place, her gang of thieves, Bill and
some Wall Street thugs,
She got my vote but I drew the line when she came back
for a hug.
Our Revolution, the flame still burns bright, Bernie
he’s our man
Hot like a blintz on Clinton’s rear, but for
Wasserman, it was in the can
Jeff Weaver at the wheel, twenty-seven dollar
donations on the gas
Can’t this thing go faster? Jettison some staffers and
top it off with cash.
No comments:
Post a Comment