Trump is in his bunker, not the one in Mar-a-Lago.
He wants to turn the D.C. streets to ’68 Chicago.
He doesn’t have a cruel J.Edgar Hoover by his side.
He lost that when Bill Barr said ‘that’s enough,’ and went to hide.
His posse has been culled to the most sycophantic crew.
With Atlas shrugged and Rudy bugged, he’s down to General Q.
Mike Flynn accepted pardon. The rose garden is his base.
He’ll organize a pod of Proud Boys to defend the place.
His fervid plan to organize a military coup
has been shot down; the man’s a clown. There’s nothing he can do.
But Trump’s implored his fiercest fans to come to town with guns.
The man may have a tiny brain, but has balls by the tons.
He’ll organize a strike force of hillbilly racist men.
As far as bad ideas go, it’s got to be a ten.
They’ll roam D.C., eccentrically, in flag-strewn pickup trucks.
Green Mountain boys they’re not, just a sad bunch of stupid fucks.
And, when the smoke has cleared, alas, in the forty-five purge,
a new America, will, after four long years emerge.
