May 14, Old Donald’s Home (Sing to “Old Folks at Home,”) (1)
At dinner time in Mar-a-Lago,
Sad and alone,
Trump, munching on an all beef taco,
Stares at a quiet phone.
The insurrection he incited,
Sadly, has failed.
And, in New York, if he’s indicted,
He knows he might be jailed.
All the world is sad and dreary,
Since his last defeat.
Trump’s followers are growing weary,
Since they won’t let him tweet.
Fifth Avenue, in New York City:
There stands Trump tower.
Now all his pomp is turning shitty;
Since he is out of power.
Sometimes Republicans come calling,
So they can preen.
But all these photo-ops are galling,
They’re just there to be seen.
Forced retirement is dreary,
When you think you won.
Since sixty courts don’t buy his theory,
Trump’s troubles have begun.
Trump’s loyalists commit sedition.
He sat and watched.
His speeches were live ammunition.
But the attack was botched.
So, Donald’s playing golf in exile
But that gets old.
And now the DOJ is hostile,
Making Trump’s blood run cold.
Donald’s world is sad and dreary,
Like a catacomb.
It’s hard to stay upbeat and cheery,
Stuck in Old Donald’s Home.
- “Old Folks at Home,” (Way Down Upon the Swanee River) was written in 1851 by Stephen Foster for the Christy Minstrels. The story of its origin relates that he chose “Swanee,” because it had two syllables and the right accent. Foster never saw it.
The Swanee River flows from southern Georgia, through Northern Florida, and empties into the Gulf of Mexico.