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The Donald gets angry quite often
(But Putin can get him to soften).
He rails and he rages
At all the front pages,
Through all of that Covid-made coughin’
He’s envious also, Fred’s scion;
Xi’s power he’d like once to try on.
If we make him a king,
Like his buddy Jinping,
We’ll all need a shoulder to cry on.
Don’s greed isn’t subject to cavil.
He profits when White House toads travel.
And diplomats, too,
Toss big dough in his shoe.
Emoluments we must unravel.
Trump’s gluttony causes us sorrow
(He eats like there’ll be no tomorrow.)
He scarfs KFCs,
And gets down on his knees,
For cake he can beg, steal, or borrow.
Lust? Can you give me a break?
When isn’t suave Don on the make?
Just ask his pal Stormy,
If you doubt he’s abnormy.
How many lewd tapes does it take?
He’s prideful and vain, that’s no fable.
His genius, he says, is quite stable.
He’ll MAGA, he claims,
But he just calls foes names,
For in fact, he’s a man whose unable.
Self-referent poems are my thing.
And sloth has a wonderful ring.
[So you finish this one. And vote blue.]