by Rick Young | Oct 1, 2020 | Song
Take Your Guns to Town.
Do not put them down.
March around the polls.
Hunt them down like trolls.
Wear your camo duds.
Drink suds with your buds.
Take Your Guns to Town.
M’ boys don’t mess around.
Must intimidate.
Voters who aren’t great.
Fuck authorities.
Scare minorities.
Wanna be a star?
Hit them with your car.
Take Your Guns to Town.
Make that freedom sound.
Every gat you heft.
Terrifies the left.
They want anarchy.
We will set them free.
Stand by for my signs.
At the battle lines.
We’ll have law and order.
Just like on the border.
Shout my name out loud.
You boys make me proud.
Please, take your guns to town.
by Rick Young | Sep 30, 2020 | Story
We’re so proud of our little Proud Boy.
He’s only eight, but he knows who to hate
and how to shoot. He’s got the arm patch.
And his collection of supremacist memorabilia
could make a nazi drool. We do home school.
His biggest dream is to grow up and play
with the big boys in the coming segregation wars.
And he was so excited by the call out tonight
by our great president, that he peed his pants.
He’ll take that out on some poor bastard someday.
by Rick Young | Sep 29, 2020 | Poem
The government wants your uterus.
Please mail it in a plain brown package
to Fetus Force, A.C.B. div. /SCOTUS9.
It will be reprogrammed, micro-chipped,
patriotically decorated and returned
with proper child-bearing instructions.
A list of government-approved names
and occupation choices will be included.
Fetus Force trackers will trace slackers
and offer standard sterilization services.
Strong and healthy babies will be eligible
for the maga-race initiation program,
and even the future leaders honor roll.
Promising infants may be enrolled
in our SocietyWantsAllMotivatedPeople
training school in a highly secret location.
Please comply immediately.
Do not risk the wrath of Fetus Force.
by Rick Young | Sep 28, 2020 | Poem
He’s a loser, just like you, sir.
You, who are his base.
He’s just a con whose time has come.
His suit might match his face.
Throw away that MAGA hat,
in thirty-six days moot.
It will mean,”My Ass Got Axed,”
after he gets the boot.
He cheated on his taxes, yes.
But that’s not the main point.
He’s in loan debt up to his hair.
Soon he’ll be in the joint.
And if orange is the new black,
rich folks investigated,
some more big cons could face his fate,
brought down, incarcerated.
by Rick Young | Sep 27, 2020 | Poem
The orange king has charged that sleepy Joe is using drugs,
the kind, in sports, called performance enhancing.
The first debate, they both should be injected with cocaine,
and then forced into hours of disco dancing.
The orange king knew that scene well when he was in his prime.
He boogied at Studio 54.
Looking back, it may well have been his most active time.
He’d go home with a model or a whore.
A dance-off now could be a test. He can’t walk down a ramp.
Did jivin’ Joe do blow in Delaware?
Aside from all the aches and pains and falling on the floor,
the key could be what happens to their hair.
