Lots of boxes in the storeroom,
Lots of boxes full of documents,
Lots of boxes in the bathroom,
Lots of boxes, all the same.
There are white ones; there are brown ones
Some with blue stripes, some with greenish stripes
And the papers are not ticky tacky
For they’re all marked, “Classified.”

And the papers in the boxes
All came from the federal government,
Where they were put in boxes
When the Donald had to leave.
Shouldn’t be there, that’s a no, no,
In fact it is a felony.
All these folders are not ticky tacky,
For they’re all marked, “Classified.”

And they were in Mar a Lago
In the ball room and the shower stalls
And the Donald showed the papers
To the golfers, what a fool.
That’s a no, no, further felony
Although Trump says they’re his property,
All the papers in the boxes,
Have all been marked, “Classified.”

Now the Donald is fund-raising,
And tweeting lines of calumny
And his posts read like ticky tacky
And they all sound just the same.
Lots of boxes, full of folders;
They have blue stripes and have greenish stripes.
And the contents are not ticky tacky
For they’re all marked, “Classified.”

(1) May be sung to “Little Boxes,” by Malvina Reynolds, 1963. If you’ve ever driven on the Bayshore Freeway between San Francisco and Palo Alto, you will pass through Daly City where you will see rows of houses on a hillside that inspired Malvina Reynolds to write her song in protest of conformity.