Trump he keeps a pumpin';
he caint help it if he smells;
its the nature of the polecat dontcha know;
he's jest got to pump it out
farting through his big ass-mouth.
He caint hold it in - incontinence must blow.
And (abolish all reality) he'll say jest anything,
trash USA... and history of long years;
breathing his own emissions
knows that he alone is real
and all else jest an echo of his fears.
J. McCarthy's spinning. Here's a traitor to The States: -
A Ruskie Lover, Putin's boy, iffen there ever was.
Too many Trumps in the USA, the trouble is, but not
as many as he hoped, because
to bawl and jeer and yell out lies
seems something of a joke when in the face
of institutional forces once to fear;
but frothy, old-fart, Philistine
insulting all comers, high and low,
that's mental illness. Def. caint blame the beer.
YOU ARE READING
Potatoes
PoetryHot, Sweet, Saucy, Spicy - always filling/fattening. Donder - vb. To blunder about aimlessly, not knowing what the feck one is at.
