And it wasn’t just neurosis
That they were afflicted with
But a strange kind of psychosis
A manner in which to drift
Losing their heart’s desire
In their fit of pure sadness
They resorted all to fire
In the delirium of their madness
So it really became ironic
To see the Trumpster hauling trash
Leading all those who are so moronic
Despite all his ruthless cash
And off into the sunset
Wearing his orange jumpsuit
In the rain getting all wet
Just as nutty as a coot
And in his campaign he’s a bruiser
Spreading all kinds of lies
Bound to be a bigtime loser
Out there drawing flies
Maybe for a very long time
A reaping for what he’s done
A sentence to fit the crime
Will put a coda to all his fun
And on the streets after the clash
A weeping remnant shall be hushed
Like the breakout of a rash
They’re going to be rapidly flushed
We’ll find it easy to draw the line
To try to put our souls at ease
Give ourselves some peace of mind
With the flag waving in the breeze
Making it good for Erica
And Jim, Tim and Slim too
Just to be living in America
Doing what we’re supposed to do
And instead of a world in ruin
All battered, beaten and torn
We’ll succeed at what we’re doing
Our dreams rekindled and reborn
And then despite their discombobulation
The excuses and the defiant stance
We’ll direct them with a simple solution
All about true happenstance