In Washington I smell a rat
It’s Donald Trump, Trump is that
With hair like that he should wear a hat
Or feed his head to a junk yard cat.

The smell’s the stench of hypocracy
It’s the end of our democracy
What’s in store is hard to see
I hope it’s not kleptocracy.

Can’t you smell that putrid stink
each time you see him in printer’s ink?
He’s taking us right to the brink
of what it is, I hate to think.

His are not very pleasant odors
(he lost by several million voters)
and when he speaks, we need decoders
for him and his band of vile freeloaders.

It’s not so pleasant, is his pungence
that fills our airwaves in such abundance
and drives us to such vile repugnance;
can’t we lock him in some dungeons?

But by next year I sense the aroma
of voters’ rejection of this melanoma.
We’ll all come out of this our coma
from Maine to far off Oklahoma.