Every Lefty in Leftville liked democracy a lot . . .
and even some Righties had given it a shot,
But the Drumpf, who had moved recently from Leftville, did NOT!
The Drumpf hated democracy! The whole twenty-one month season!
Now, please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
Some say its because it had chosen a Black,
though he’d say, I love the Blacks, it’s citizenship he lacks!
It could be his head wasn’t screwed on just right.
It could be, perhaps, that his skin was too white.
But I think that the most likely reason of all,
May have been that his (cough) hands were two sizes too small.
Whatever the reason, his hands or his shoes,
he ran on a platform everyone thought would lose,
I’ll deport all the Mexican rapists, he said,
with a flop of orange hair atop his head.
I’ll build a wall, a wall so tall. It’ll be really tall, folks!
And I’ll make the Mexicans pay for it all.
The satirists called him an ass-clown, a fool!
Little did they know one day he would rule.
He stood there at podiums across the land,
flailing his tiny manchild-hands
claiming to be God’s gift to the working man.
Us versus Them, and Them versus Us,
there was no more room for adults to discuss;
he raised the bar for civil discourse
by encouraging violence at rallies of course,
and in a Republican primary debate
saying the size of his penis was great.
And the Press, where were they?
They were lapdogs and sycophants,
laughing as he shot at them shouting, Dance!
Some caught on too late
to the Drumpf’s
and the vast American
Working class whites came out in throngs,
to vote their beliefs about who belongs
in America and who does not.
Some had previously given the Black man a shot,
but the manufacturing jobs were not to be found
and the proud ignorances of poor whites abound;
they went to the booths and put their trust in a man
with a heart three sizes smaller than his hands.
Then, suddenly, to everyone’s disbelief,
Drumpf became the Pussy-Grabber-in-Chief.
Democracy was dead, and everyone knew it;
Drumpf had won and the rest of us blew it.
So now it’s December and Christmas is upon us,
I lie in my bed and desperately want us
to turn back the clock and drive Drumpf away
for I hope and I pray we will rue the day
the Drumpf stole our democracy away.
The Grinch is redeemed at the end of Seuss’s lyric
and rides down the mountain filled with Christmas spirit.
But there is no such story to tell of the Drumpf;
the only hope left is in four years we may dump
his billionaire ass out into the snow
for we can’t hold out hope that his heart will grow.
We must keep on speaking
and speaking up loud;
No matter the cost
or all will be lost.
Not just a little, not just a bit,
but every last little bit of it.
Freedom and decency demand
that we stand up to Drumpf,
that we not let this stand.
So, do what you know,
do what you can
and then do some more
for we can’t let this man
determine the fate of Man.
You may mourn the fact that this verse
has taken a rather serious
turn. No more rhymes about penises,
or hair that is orange.
No more rhymes at all.
America is not sing-songy anymore,
if it ever was.