When Donald met the press he sounded like he understood
He got his ass burned in the vote like pollsters said he would.
He ranted and he raved and came across as quite unhinged.
He squawked and flapped just like a bird with its tail feathers singed.
Contending with his enemies, he took them all to task.
He criticized reporters for the questions that they ask.
He brought up Hillary, Obama, and Bob Mueller too,
Condemning them for what they’ve done and what they still might do.
Obama wrecked the army; Hillary belongs in jail.
“There’s no collusion, no collusion…” Mueller’s probe will fail.
And Whitaker, Matt Whitaker? Trump doesn’t know the man.
It’s from TV appearances that Trump became a fan.
And counting all the votes in Florida—that’s a disgrace.
If they would just stop counting, then his guys would win the race.
And Democrats in Congress better not investigate.
(What’s wrong with Russians helping Donald make this country great?)
Demeanor baleful, Trump warned Democrats they should not fight.
For he’s a better fighter, he says, and his might makes right.
Though Donald’s shorts are not yet brown nor yellow in the front,
His sphincters are all loosening at what he might confront.