I’m well aware I’m a little dumb,
When it comes to fact I am under your thumb
But how can I possibly believe
These things he does when in a peeve?
Shooting men with some anti-tank gun
For nothing; presumably, for fun
Because he can. Oh, I know his hair
Is silly, but that cannot be fair,
When we’ve Hillary and Donald Trump.
Showing their dead wigs on the stump
Before adoring crowds, which they all share.
How do we know he doesn’t care
For his people? They talk a different game
And subsume their souls unto his fame,
They venerate his pudgy frame
And everybody acts the same.
So how do we know a monster lurks
In that plump skull? Who are the jerks
That know the singer and the song,
When the whole nation shapes the wrong?