“Your Fired”, was his claim to fame.
Everyone everywhere knew his name.
Down the moving stairs he’d tread.
The long tie cotton candy head.
A stunt he thought, with actors bought,
To bring attention he had sought.
He’d grift them all, no chance at all.
No chance that he would win.
Greeted by cheers from Plebeian crowd,
The Press gathered round to listen.
M.A.G.A. spewed from his thin lips.
His thinning hair did glisten.
The snake oil he sold that very day,
They bought and slurped and drank away.
He couldn't believe the money they'd pay -
To look at him, their savior, they say.
Polling said that he would lose.
Then Comey threw a wrench
Hillary 's votes became errant.
So D.J.T. to White House went,
Winning to Donald was such a lark.
In Oval Office, his ass he'd Park.
Knowing all the work he'd shirk,
Golf is where he'd leave his mark.
Didn't know the work required.
Or all the reports he must read…
He’d require one-page charts.
Colored pictures he would need.
Reading words! Never had a need.
He thought it was so lame.
How could he improve his read?
He could hardly write his name.
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