I’m blocked by blatant blasphemies.
His dictator film fantasies.
He should have to pay disaster fees.
He tears the mask off,
with no breath to cough.
This movie must come to its end.
America is not his friend.
He’s got mutilation to spend.
And it’s never too late
to manipulate hate.
Anyone living inside
could be his diseased droplets bride.
A beautiful marriage,
and the wedding carriage
will drop you graveside when you’ve died.
He’s a one-man Covid parade.
Be afraid. Be very afraid.
He says he gets miracles sent down by god,
while crossing his fingers, a wink and a nod.
His people are cheering him out in the street,
which prompted this psychotic sick meet and greet.
He says he’ll be back in the White House in days,
to rule like a fool in a medical haze.
He’s taking a hodgepodge of powerful drugs.
Some of them may not have worked out their bugs.
Stand back and stand by, this might not work out well,
a strange denouement to these four years in hell.
This episode is quite upsetting,
until you unravel the why.
This autocrat will not suffer defeat.
In fact, he would much rather die.
And so, there’s a plan now to fake his demise.
He’s hired the Jeff Epstein crew.
They’ll carry him out on a gurney real soon.
His makeup not orange, but blue.
His death by viral complications
will float through the Walter Reed halls.
His public will weep. He’ll be drugged to sleep.
This plan takes incredible balls.
Eric at the funeral seen giggling,
Don junior wasted, face ashine.
Ivanka’s great tears are collected
for her new smell of death perfume line.
Melania, thinking of her huge pre-nup,
will have trouble being her best.
While Barron will show no emotion at all.
He keeps things quite close to his vest.
Then, after the ‘burial,’ Trump will be spirited
to some undiscovered isle,
to party with Jeff and some other ‘dead’ crooks,
some of whom may have been there awhile.
His FOX friends will declare him the new best dead prez.
His base will wait for resurrection.
November will see Pence and Graham go down,
an historic lopsided election.
And when books look back at our crazed forty-five,
the turmoil and death he created,
they’ll always refer to the notebook they found
with the huge list of people he hated.
And, many years later, when questions arise,
through a tip from his aging last bride,
they’ll dig up his coffin to check on the bones,
and find Alec Baldwin inside.
The first thought is that this could be a set-up.
He’ll quarantine a few days, then he’ll get up,
say, “I beat China flu, so you can do it, too.
It only kills the weak.” And he won’t let up.
“Two hundred thousand didn’t have to die.
They could all beat it if they’d only try.
Melania and me just drank some Clorox tea,
and now we feel as good as apple pie.”
He’ll say the whole pandemic is a hoax.
And make a lot of Democratic jokes.
He’ll say that Chuckles Schumer
started the deadly rumor,
and that is what has killed all these poor folks.
A plague of liberal misinformation
is what has caused the death toll in our nation.
If Dems had listened to him about bleach,
we’d all be out now sunning on the beach.
“So, toss your masks away and breathe the air.
It may kill sickly oldsters; we don’t care.
Open up the schools; our kids now look like fools.
If I can beat it, so can you. I swear.”
New York diocese is bankrupt.
Clergy abuse suits.
Disney cartoon country will strip
all our native roots.
Kenosha Kyle, the killer boy,
has made his needed fan.
Official word: he was “protecting
the small business man.”
China’s going to the moon.
It’s “National Hair Day.”
Brad Parscale is getting “help.”
The Heat got blown away.
Trump debunked of his false claim
of postmen selling ballots.
He’d stand on a debate stage
and hit people with mallets.
Hong Kong police continue
to suppress their people’s rights.
Faith based groups quickly erase
ACB from their sites.
Jimmy Carter, ninety-six years
working for the good.
News says next debate
will have some changes, knock on wood.