He loves to preside.
As for those who’ve died:
just leave them outside.
The tent is his show.
There won’t be no ponies,
but a lot of phonies,
and all his tight cronies,
the swamp as you know.
The first ring is lies,
where he death-defies,
just spinning in air
his spurious deeds.
Then in comes the lion,
an Elder of Zion,
with more facts to try on.
Contest if you dare.
In ring two, distortion,
defined as contortion,
you won’t get your portion,
but, brother, beware.
They’ll twist facts to pretzels.
Have you buying Edsels,
fill your head with dreadfuls,
until you don’t care.
In ring three the cheaters,
scam glam and tax beaters.
His kids are the greeters.
Consumer beware.
They’ll ask for your wallet.
Black magic, they’ll call it.
No way to forestall it.
All good, they will swear.
And when you leave the tent,
all raging and hell-bent,
you’ll think that the bucks spent
went to a just cause.
It’s called domination,
masked as jubilation.
You’re on the right station.
Now comes a brief pause.
