by Rick Young | Jan 31, 2020 | Poem
Lamar had one last chance to serve his country well.
Just a vote “yes,” then he could retire.
But he chose instead to live his his old age out in hell,
let his country burn down in Trump fire.
Though Lamar suggested ‘inappropriate behavior,’
it wasn’t bad enough to be impeached.
And so the Dems are left without a hero or a savior,
stranded one vote short by Senate, beached.
The historic moment will now be washed out to sea,
unheard witnesses lost to the tide.
Evil’s in the public interest. We must let it be,
strapped in our apocalyptic ride.
by Rick Young | Jan 30, 2020 | Poem
Oh, please, friends, interfere in this election.
I don’t know who my friends are.
There’s such a great selection.
I may have pissed off Macron and that poof Justin Trudeau,
but I’ve got pals like Daddy Vlad and Rocket Kim YoYo.
My homies are all dictators and they’ll blow you away.
They’ll phone your drone, explode your home.
They’ll make it not your day.
And Benjie, my Jew buddy, who’s got money in West Bank,
has silos buried everywhere, and at my call, he’ll crank.
You scum who called me ‘has-been’ when Apprentice left the air
will be in chains, fake news remains, so kiss my derriere.
And to you Friends who help me, you will get some new terrain.
The winner gets Great Greenland, the loser gets Ukraine.
by Rick Young | Jan 30, 2020 | Poem
Satan sleeps down by my feet.
I think he likes the smell.
When not awake, he’s pretty sweet.
But roused, he’s really hell.
Get up and sin, get up and kill,
he’ll shout throughout the house.
I tell him to shut up and chill.
I couldn’t hurt a mouse.
At least shoplift, steal something small,
he’ll try to get me scheming.
Go back to bed, that is my call.
Don’t mind him when he’s dreaming.
He seems to think he’ll change my mind,
make me do something crazy.
But soon he’ll find I’m not that kind.
I’m not bad. I’m just lazy.
by Rick Young | Jan 28, 2020 | Poem
Sekulow is bellowing his lies.
All the Trumpish bullshit in disguise.
This all is for naught. Ukraine wasn’t bought.
Dems usurped a perfect call like spies.
Biden is the one should be on trial.
He should have to walk the dead man’s mile.
Got his son a job with Burisma mob.
Sleepy Joe should be sent to exile.
Bolton only wants his book to sell.
If he testifies, he’ll go to hell.
Lies through his mustache, talks a lot of trash.
There is really nothing he can tell.
It was just a policy decision,
warped by Schiff to orchestrate derision.
Let the transcript show there is no quid pro quo.
There’s no need to question his great vision.
Democrats will have to pay the price.
They will learn to treat their leader nice.
We’ll fix their elections, destroy their protections.
Time to put those jackasses on ice.
by Rick Young | Jan 27, 2020 | Poem
Executive privilege is like a cone of silence.
Under it one can do crimes that most folks would appall.
Everything including robbery, fraud and great violence,
must be allowed without question. Go have a ball.
Some say this fact sounds like dictator rule;
the wronged should be allowed position.
But those who have learned from executive school
say, sorry, that’s not our decision.
Our leaders must remain unquestioned,
the toadies and roadies explain.
To even reveal a suggestion
could derail the whole ruling chain.
We could have elected Al “Scarface” Capone
and no one could mention his past.
With murder and mayhem safe under his cone,
he literally could have a blast.
Whatever it says in our old constitution,
it doesn’t pertain to today.
There is no way out of a bad situation
if criminals have their own way.
