#yankee
Yankee Doodle you’re a dope
And a brain-dead pigeon.
You elected a big mope
Who brought his villains with him.
Yank your doodle and keep it up
That should keep you busy.
Then we’ll all say look at him
He’s not worth much more, is he?
Yankee ******** went to DC
Just to make a fortune.
But his dreams of grandeur we
Found we can’t afford them.
Yankee Doodle is not one guy
Turns out it’s half a nation.
Now we have the piper to pay
And he will have his ration.
Yankee Doodle, bunch of fools
Easy to mislead them.
Now they have but fallow fields
And no good grain to feed them.
Yankee ******** feeds them lies
Says he’ll fix the whole thing.
Half the people said yes he will
The rest say who’s he kidding?
Yankee ******** is a man
Yankee Doodle's not one.
Yankee Doodle loves a fascist.
Omigod, they’ve got one!
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 2:37 PM UTC
Mere mention of his name
makes me want to dump...
donald chump
Flush him down and flush again to keep him in the ground.
Ashamed to claim my citizenship be a
laughingstock like him
the tyranny keeps growing
the future's looking grim
won't even wear my Yankee cap and hide under the brim
the problem is it's
not just him but also
those that grant him power
they smell like shiza
and don't speak for me
so I decree they all need
a NiceAssZIppy shower
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 4:32 AM UTC
Note to you: The rythymn-in-strument strums in stone geo-time.
To the drummers,
dis-passio ey okeh,
woodwinds dim-
inuendo
oboe join in mit piccolo on the hummingbird whistles
simulating
Breezes, in the shade of a great rock,
real life rock, granite composed of not so tiny grains
of ground up uther utter star-stuff, side-
real asif intended for goodness
sake.
otherwise, how petrified I'd be come imagining the forming
of the
very
foundation of my life, as I know it,
it is un-believable, therefore
no lie,
if
the riddle arrives after ever begins
and, word has it, dear reader,
may
is your word now.
You may believe anything you wish,
with no
un-intended after math, after ever
began
Do you recall...
youth full quests completed alone?
Quests, Johnny Quest, Future Quest V.B.S.
believers, true believers being formed from childish hopes,
manifesting in grown liars stricken with
hidden child sym-drone
in the middle of booming thirty-something phase when
pressure
starts storing all the old stories,
building energy for the seventh decade fracture/crushing
blow
sh
soft blow breeze of free and easy musing re
songing a reason to belief
in
even in
a realm where lies never die.
Recall the old days, balance
bubbles and crossed hairs and roads
...
Balance factors, bubble balancing lead weight,
deligate
the Whole Earth Catalogue
as
tipping-point
balanced by the weight of the roof on Notre Dame being
melted along with the rest of the Greenland Ice sheet,
so superman eyes in our skies can see to the bedrock on
which the
Principle Thing
spins
---
The root of evil has reached this point
this is after all that. Time-wise, in the arrow scenario.
Fair tales always win, sh'eros live for your examined life'sake
--- ranting old men come running down stairs
--- the hidden child has arrived
The golden headed child, meek and cold
locked
in buried treasure
chests opened one last time for quadrupal by-pass
--- He's a donor
--- givem awish foundation
--- make this sacred
Mi-da's, well, he wished again,
he wished he lived in inter-sting times entertainment-wise
inward touching times imagined
in the addled golden child
Adler
brought to life in a virtual, al-most verifiable asnot art,
but not
very-fi-able, semper-fi-wise, if you
swore the oath. (It's a game, right, now game vows link for
in of by logic gated
Jungian
mazes, do they? Amazing. ) See,
from above, as below, pretend you know
all things, you can imagine
in my bubble, in the absolute absense of your
at-most-fear
let. that act do. let us, the objective aspect of we,
the people who hold those famed
troothz, verities of any examind re-ality-ifity-isms
self-evidence for we
be letting be, believe me, that's no lie, you can doit, you can, you can
I imagine
and I accept we may mean more to me than thee,
however now
hapt, in qualia quantumical if-I-ability
entangled meanings
link us through
my-silly-um,
Disney-fictionation endo-crenalation, --|_|T|_>>>--->
times half
formed
Crea-nullated castle
wall
link that sparked the aitia ifiabe
first caused
fall from the well
on the mountain
jack fell downbroke his crown
jillcame
tumbling after bling bling bling
--- the sorcerors's apprentice was fired
--- they found errors in his
--- sin-tax
We can forgive such over-sight.
Blame the mycelum clan
or,
better yet,
blame the clay eaters, no,
the clay wearers?
the clay bher-ers?
Ah, the clay bakers, fersher? Nae?
The clay, perse?
The dust we shuffle as we dance atop the stone?
The way of the rolling stone,
grinding, rolling-downhill-stone,
the stone rolled away,
the stone of the sysiphus-seen-hap-iuna
cult?
Blowing in the wind, lifted higher
Ax d'maji-yo, he know. 'Zeke 17, seven with a caballero v,
y'know,
callit Macaronic be-bop
dodat, yankee doodle morph t' resound,
like poetry
slams
at the gates
no enemey ever breached. The key truth, is that,
believe it, if you think you may.
Aug 18, 2019
Aug 18, 2019 at 2:50 PM UTC
I'm a Yankee in the South
Far from where I was bo-ahn,
Th' other half of this Country stout,
But not where I'd call home.
I talk too fast and walk too fast
And speak with easy grin;
And every word that I say once
I must repeat again!
If you're black you're Black, down he-ah,
and if you're white, you're White;
I don't fit well, I'm mostly brown,
They just don't feel it's right.
I work each Sunday in the sto-ah,
I do the work of three;
Back home I went to Sunday Mass
And Godless they call me.
Godless Yank, I'm rude, I'm cold,
I started the great War -
(Not our Great War, you see, but one
that came somewhat befo-ah).
I've tried their greens, I've tried their grits,
I've had biscuits n' gravy,
Oh what I'd give for chowdah hot
Or some lobstah tasty!
I like my tea, I like it hot,
Not sickly-sweet and iced,
Brew it black and brew it strong -
No sweeter will suffice.
Well, I'm a Yankee in the South,
But I wish I'd never gone.
So in a month I'll pack me up
And home I'll be 'fore long!
I'll eat cannolli in North End,
I'll visit Fenway Pahk,
I'll watch the city glow with light
The minute it gets dahk.
I'll roam the rivers, fields and woods,
All dusted up with snow;
The northern bogs, the stony beaches,
That's what I call home!
I never should have come, I sweah,
I'll never go again;
There's plenty here to tide a girl
A hundred years and ten.
The long-sought day has dawned at last,
And now we'll sally forth,
So clear and a bit chilly, it's
A promise of the North.
We drove and drove and drove again,
And then we drove some mo-ah,
We started out at ten to six,
And now it's half-past ****
And when I'm shovelin' the snow,
Cursing potholes in the road,
I'll think of all the Southern folk
And smile at every load!
Well we're home again, we're home at last,
I won't leave anymo-ah,
I've proved without a doubt there is
Nuthin' to leave it ****
Well, I was a Yankee in the South,
It's not what I'd call nice,
And now I can concretely say
I wouldn't do it twice!
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 4:45 PM UTC