Little Donnie Trump

Little Donnie Trump, as everybody knows,
Has rings on his fingers and bells on his toes,
Rings and things and buttons and bows,
But yikes! The emperor has no clothes!

He'll be coming round the mountain when he comes.
He'll be riding six white horses when he comes,
And he'll wreck the GOP... which is good for you and me...
So we'll all go out to meet him when he comes.

Trump "Towers" in New York City like old King Kong
And does his "Deals" with mobsters, cuz you gotta get along.
He's the crooked cat who caught a crooked mouse,
And we'll all live together in a little crooked house.

Donnie tells a lie or two. He loves to spew and spout.
Down came the rain and washed the Liar out,
Out came the sun and dried up all the rain,
And the Itsy Bitsy Liar got up to spout again.

"I go to church on Sunday," little Donnie swears,
Lions and liars and tigers and bears.
There once was a man who wouldn't say his prayers;
Mother Hubbard caught him and threw him down the stairs.

With all the King's horses and all the King's men,
He'll Make America Great Again.
Yippie-ki-yo and Hip Hip Hooray.
Here we go gathering nuts in May.

He'll get things done! It'll be a new day!
The Supreme Court, Donnie? What-da-ya-say?
"Delay, delay, delay, delay" ?
Here we go gathering nuts in May.

Donnie was a little lamb;
His foot was black as soot,
And into Megan's bread and jam
His sooty foot he put.

He taunted Megan Kelly
With bloody, bawdy laughter.
Apparently nobody cared,
And Jill came tumbling after.

Polly put the kettle on; we'll all have tea.
He cherishes the women; he's married two or three.
Pretty maids all in a row... or nuns,
One a-penny, two a-penny, hot cross buns.

Donnie, Donnie, puddin' and pie,
Little Donnie swallowed a fly.
Kissed the girls and made them cry.
Perhaps he'll die.

"All the Mexicans have to go back;
All the Muslims must stay in Iraq.
I'll close the mosques! What a good boy am I."
Perhaps he'll die.

He'll stand up to China, just wait and see.
Pat it and prick it and mark it with "B."
He'll bring back the jobs and build a Great Wall,
And when the bow breaks, the baby will fall.

If he shot you on 5th Avenue,
Not a soul would care.
Pop goes the weasel,
And he has such pretty hair.

It may be real; it may be lacquered,
But he doesn't use a comb.
Perhaps a piggy wee-wees in it
All the way home.

Build a wall of bigotry,
Or build a bridge of hope.
Pop goes the weasel,
And pope goes the Pope.

Global warming? Creationism?
Send in the clown.
Health care?     Ring around the rosie,
All fall down.

He's the Grand old Duke of York
Who had ten thousand men;
He marched them up the hill
And marched them down again.

He's richer far than Romney
And surely twice as mean,
And when they finish marching,
They'll lick the platter clean.

He's Milo Minderbinder,
Blue Beard, and Captain Bligh,
Moby Dick, Godzilla.
Yikes!      Perhaps he'll die.

              February 2016
                   Primary Season