Melania, Melania
Melania,Melania, our journey’s nearly done,
We fudged the facts, paid little tax, the prize is almost won,
The polls I hear are tied—‘tho clear that most folk are disgusted,
With hollow eyes they realize I’m crude and can’t be trusted.
In deed, O heart! heart! heart!
those lipstick marks are red
they stain my shirt!—Melania’s words
are fallen cold and dead
Melania, Melania, get up and hear the bells,
‘Tis but for you my fling is flung—not Stormy Daniels.
Your haute couture—a sinecure—we’ve been through this before,
A little hicky on my ass and you’d walk out the door?
Melania, Melania
she was but a little hussy—
it’s just your dream that on the deck
I grabbed her by the pussy.
Melania does not answer ‘tho I grovel at her foot,
My lady neither holds my hand so I just pats her butt.
At my inauguration I have but myself to thank,
‘Tho would have mentioned too my crew had most not walked the plank.
Shout O shores and ring O bells!
Hark! —potentially a gremlin—
someone, I ween, that I must thank—
exulting in the Kremlin.
/
Threaded Mode
