He thinks he can buy elections, Bernie says, “‘Fraid not.”

Klobuchar and Buttigieg shall battle for the middle.

Biden, looking sleepy, will play “Hey Joe” on the fiddle.

Liz will be the liberal schoolmarm, but she’s looking thin.

All six who are in the mix assure us they can win.

Bernie’s stock is on the rise, he’s built a current lead,

his healthcare and school paid for all by one percenters’ greed.

Biden simply wants to keep his foot out of his mouth,

beat the odds in Vegas and perhaps he’ll win down south.

Mayor Pete thinks on his feet, but he’s just so damned white.

Klobuchar proved she can spar. She’ll duke it out tonight.

Warren’s just not scorin’ lately, in a spat with Sanders.

Bloomberg’s only hope might be toss money to bystanders.

So, place your bets, smoke cigarettes, put everything on red.

The winner in Las Vegas might just head down south ahead.

Racketeers and junk bond dealers now can make their getaway.

All Trump’s friends convicted of fraud, bribery, corruption,

get out of jail free now, sorry for the interruption.

Michael Milken, Bernard Kerik and Eddie DeBartolo,

free to go back to their gang or resume bilking solo.

Rod Blagojevich tried to sell Obama’s seat.

Next time he commits a crime will be much more discrete.

Lifestyle mogul Martha Stewart might be next one pardoned.

She hopes it happens soon before his arteries have hardened.

after a street fight with police that took about an hour.

Crews are at the scene and talking to the occupiers.

There’s a rumor going ’round they’ve even started fires.

One man told reporters, “Yesterday my life just stinks,

but now I’m drinking sweet champagne and pissing in gold sinks.”

“How strange for some,” said John Q. Bum, “to sleep in giant beds,

when most of us were lucky to have cardboard o’er our heads.”

In the sealed-off lobby, there’s a party going down

with folks from every fleabag hacienda in this town.

What fun it is to watch some families, even little nippers,

waving out from windows wearing fluffy robes and slippers.

Police say that it won’t last long, they’ll overtake these vandals.

Meanwhile, goodbye souvenirs, like golden toilet handles.

In a statement just released called “Nothing left to lose,”

those inside rejoice at having clean sheets and good booze.

They know that this cannot last and must end with detention.

“But, at least we’ll have a roof and maybe draw attention.”

“Rich people don’t help us out and laugh at us in passing;

it’s about time we stand up and take a turn at gassing.”

Now a flag’s been set up to wave on the penthouse roof:

“One percent is over soon and let this be the proof !”

I’ll spend two dozen hours with nothing good to say.

I’ll start with his constant attack on our endangered species,

and segue to his lying mouth, which, open, smells like feces.

Next I’ll mention how he mocked a disabled reporter,

how, when he reads his speeches, he turns into a rip snorter,

how he spouts obscene to rally his illiterati,

walks the mobster walk in imitation of John Gotti,

lies so much there’s danger truth might become obsolete,

balances his shifty bulk with tiny hands and feet.

I’ll mock the evil orange one from midnight until dawn.

I’ll take time out for coffee, and then continue on.

There’s no dearth of nasty things to say about this man.

Grab a soapbox, jump right in, protest him while you can.

Next year, President’s Day might be met with utter silence.

Might well be his criticizers will be met with violence,

swept involuntarily to compounds with high walls.

It all ends with a whimper when democracy falls.

First state of the nation with a walker.

Before each appearance, activate the Depends Drone.

A nurse will follow him just like a stalker.

Ramps will replace all the stairs and corners be filed down.

Pillow-covered floors in case he falls.

Ambulance turned limo will now take him around town.

Hearing aides will answer all his calls.

In the oval office, he can sit and meditate,

to contemplate his coming term’s adventures.

His staff will insure there’s only soft things on his plate.

Right by the button, there will sit his dentures.

Metamucil will become official White House fare

and be served at Presidential dinner.

In his words, youth has been served and now it’s only fair,

a really old, old man should be the winner.