sat on his wall
bleating and blathering,
condemning us all.
"I know the way,
I'm better than you,"
Tweeted he every night
over his golf course view.
"I don't care for Mexicans,
Muslims, and not so much Jews...
Well, at least not the Dems and
those on the 'news'.
I prefer instead those painted orange,
in fine Italian shoes.
I'm the President now,
I decide if the sky stays blue...
not the the artists or the scientists...
and certainly not you.
I'll make this Country great again!
You'll see, I know what to do!
Put your faith in me, a 'Billionaire'!
I promise, I'll tell you true!"
Hollered he up high,
his chubby fingers crossed,
as his great jowels blubbered,
and his voice quaked with frost.
"I wonder," thought I,
reading his alternate 'facts' of the day,
"Maybe he wouldn't be so grumpy
if his daddy loved him more, or at all,
or maybe, just maybe,
if his fat greedy hands
Sent to DJT in his first 100. May it grace the cover of my FBI file, should I have such a file.