Meow, meow, meow,
Whose puss art thou?
Not Donny Trump's puss,
Not ever and not now.
Trump is but a braggart baboon
Who tootles a bad jazz bassoon.
The end of this story:
He'll go on to glory
Playing jazz in a hot air balloon.
If Donald could write poultry too
(In a Poulter's measure or two),
Then he might invent
Rhymes with a scent
Quite nasty, as I like to do.
Twitter, twitter, twitter,
Trump needs a pussy sitter --
Twitter. twitter, tweet,
He thinks that would be sweet.
Flitter, flitter, prance,
Oh! How he loves a dance,
Flitter, flitter, flap,
If pussy's on his lap.
Humpty Trumpty sat on his wall.
Humpty Trumpty had a great fall.
All Congress' whores and all congressmen
Couldn't put Humpty together again
Although they tried with main and with might,
And every one of them was white.
Bye, Donny Trumpkin,
Daddy's gone a-huntin'
To get a little snake skin
To wrap the Donny Trumpkin in.
Poor Trumpkin has no clue:
He's lost his flabby fiddlestick
And can't tell what to do.
Niagara Falls are blue,
A lot like his Viagra pills,
Which serve him tried and true.
What is poor Don to do?
To find his sorry fiddlestick
He'll need Cialis too.
His dame has donned her shoe,
And he has found his fiddlestick,
His dame will dance with you
While Donald fiddles with his stick
And makes it stand anew!
Remember old King Nero
Who worshipped Great God Zero?
Trump worships Zeros too --
He's collected quite a few.
He and his pussy minions
Like millions, but love billions
And are heading for sextillions.
If he could have, Dryden (1631-1700)
Would have gone into Haydn (1732-1809),
Prefers the dump.
I love lots of pussy,
It makes me feel warm.
If I buy them diamonds
They'll do me no harm;
I'll just pat their tails,
Make sure they're not gay
Or cross-dressing males,
And then we can play.
They'll dance in my lap,
I'll feed them some food --
Good pecker, not pap --
Be maybe less rude.
I'll pat my sweet pussies,
And then they will purr,
Each showing thanks
For my kindness to her;
I'll not bite their knobs,
Nor tread on their paws
Lest I should provoke them
To use their sharp claws;
I'm sure that my pussies
Will not be displeased --
I will over-sex them
If they're not diseased.
Grump grump Donald Trump,
How I wonder why you pump
In the cellar with your sump
That sounds a lot like Forrest Gump.
Three Trumps in a tub,
And who do you think they be?
The Trumpet, the Strumpet, the lass who can hump it --
Waterboard them, all three!
Donny Douchekit's gone to sea,
Silver buckles at his knee.
He'll come back and pee on me,
Pretty Donny Douchekit.
Hickory, dockery, dick,
Donnybrook tripped on his prick --
He fell on his fly,
And put out his eye --
Now, how did he pull off that trick?
KING TRUMPKIN'S WALL
Little King Trumpkin will build a fine wall,
The Mexican people will pay for it all.
The pales will be made of nothing but words,
The crossbars and slats, of batshit and turds.
"No, senor, no -- you pay for your fence
All by yourself, you spend your own Pence
Or pesos or euros...it's all your expense
And none of our own -- that's mucho nonsense.
People go over, go through, go around,
The cartels build highways deep underground.
The Great Wall of China was built to keep out
The nomads and Mongols -- you see them around
In Bejing and Hong Kong; they can be found
Everywhere these days, just like Hispanics
Who give Kinglet Trumpkin his asthma and panics.
So, no, senor, no -- you pay for your wall.
We Mexicans will not repay you at all."