Drumpie’s moved to Florida,
there’s fewer taxes there.
He leaves his tower in New York
and much synthetic hair.
He’ll blend in with the old folks
in a state of milk and honey.
And he will find a thousand ways
to rid them of their money.
He’ll wear his mirrored glasses,
ogle women on the beach,
a state of tits and asses
where impeachment’s out of reach.
He’ll claim that Mar-a-Lago
is the greatest place on earth.
And no one there will dare to care
about what he is worth.
Away down south he’ll get far from
the liberals and haters.
And, best of all, his shotgun sons
can go hunt alligators.