by Rick Young | Jun 11, 2020 | Story
He’s juggling that juggernaut
of big things sold and big things bought.
He owes a lot more than he owns,
which might explain his power jones.
And some of that he owes to mobs.
That’s why his children need good jobs.
They’ve kept him in imported wives,
who may now fear for their own lives.
His excess parties have been taped.
Who knows how many girls he’s raped?
And word is out huge payment’s due
sometime in twenty-twenty-two.
If he’s not still their top gun,
he might just cash his checks and run.
Of all the places he might hide,
a likely mob worm lives inside.
He’ll be flushed out and meet his maker.
That’s the odds for a risk taker.
The words on his memorial:
“He needed a tutorial.”
by Rick Young | Jun 10, 2020 | Story
Now we see why they’re called ‘pigs’ by some.
They get overheated in a scrum.
Swinging clubs to break protesting bones,
military gear gives them cajones.
Wading into crowds can make them vicious.
When did law enforcement turn pernicious?
The friendly policemen you see on t.v.
may not be fun in reality.
The country’s a cold case and surely not a place
you want to be unless you’ve got a gun.
But many folks who don’t quite feel that way
still seem to be shot dead as if for fun.
Oh, sure, there’s good and bad on both sides.
Sometimes that is true.
But bad gets worse. That is the curse.
And then the good die, too.
by Rick Young | Jun 2, 2020 | Story
He’s killed a hundred thousand,
now he’s hiding behind one.
He told us from the start
he could shoot someone with a gun.
We thought that was hyperbole,
and gave it ‘what the heck.’
But now here he is kneeling down
on half the country’s neck.
He’d kill us all, just look at him.
You’ll see it in his face.
The only thing he needs to do
is spare his loyal base.
The white supremes and Boogaloos,
this country’s underbelly,
are seen with arms at protests
if you just turn on your telly.
The MAGA boys and lock-up girls
are all hot air and smarmy.
But underneath their cover lies
a snarling racist army.
He plays to crowds of people
whom he wouldn’t even touch.
And yet they do his bidding
like they need his evil crutch.
If vote-by-mail does not sail,
this could be our last election.
Defeat this clown or we go down.
Faster than One Direction.
by Rick Young | May 26, 2020 | Story
O gather thee now, Wall Street traders of death.
But, before work you must sign a waiver,
in case on the floor you do take your last breath,
no recompense can you then savor.
Go shouting your numbers and capital gains,
the NYSE crowd way thinner.
Who said to make money you have to have brains?
The stock market’s always a winner.
And why, in this time of the country’s demise,
does the Dow Jones continue to rise?
The answer, of course, should come as no surprise.
The players are rich and the game is their prize.
by Rick Young | May 24, 2020 | Story
Lord, bless the germs within this pew,
and hope that casualties are few.
This virus makes the pious wary.
Who knew hymns could be so scary.
Because the wafer stock is thin,
the hosts’s hydroxychloroquine.
And there’s a substitute for wine,
bleach or something alkaline.
Congregation lambs to slaughter.
Wash your hands with holy water.
Pray that God has you protected.
Half the church will be infected.
by Rick Young | May 16, 2020 | Story
Another watchdog had to go.
He sniffed around Mike Pompeo.
Big Pharma will make our vaccine.
The king is dead. God save the queen.
Pelosi got her aid bill passed.
Tomorrow morning, she’ll be gassed.
Grocery prices on the rise.
Next year, this time: Catsup Surprise!
Space Force has a brand new flag,
“super duper missile” tag.
JCPenney goes asunder.
How’d it stay so long’s the wonder.
Bag pollution’s back in style.
Eco just walked the green mile.
All rules off, all laws contested.
B. Hussein must be arrested.
Lock ’em up or kill ’em all.
Twenty-twenty on the wall.
