Born, surrounded by riches in a penthouse high above Park Avenue,
with a golden spoon in his mouth, until he almost turned blue, but too young to sue.
Growing up, he always got what he wanted. Spoiled! the epitome of a brat.
He could get away with anything. Had more lives than a street-wise cat.
When he was young, women flocked his way, like birds after bread, to play,
until he tired of them, when he found gorgeous women, happy to receive pay.
Young or younger. Didn’t matter, flirting with sin, always with a grin.
With his growing body, he came out on top. His goal! To always win.
From daddy he got into real estate. Like tall buildings, it gave him a high.
He talked many into backing him. He was so adept at brandishing a lie.
To make it legal, he insisted they must sign on the contracts dotted line.
So what if he crossed that invisible line, everything would work out fine.
Buildings! Casinos! A professional football team too. Was he really into sports?
Didn’t matter, since so many of his business ventures failed and ended up in courts.
Your honor this. Your honor that. Honor! A word he always used on a whim.
Honor! A five-letter word. A word, over the years, that meant so little to him.
But four-letter words were more in line with his professional-like manner and style.
He sure could push them out, like the brown stuff, that normally results in a pile.
Like a plumber or carpenter, screws were the main ingredient in most deals that he made.
Involvement with him was like dealing with Marquis de Sade: evil of the highest grade.
First television, then politics, to take advantage of his bright shining star.
Reaching for the presidency. No one thought he could reach out that far.
Your kingdom is my kingdom. From the outset, he knew what he was…aiming for.
Napoleon! Putin and Chou! He wanted to be just like them. His goal: Dictator!
Lies to the left of me. Lies to the right of me. You can fool many people all of the time.
Wearing the crown of president made it easier to head his own family of crime.
He was not a good loser. He’d love to issue the command, “off with your head”.
Dictators have power. They do as they please. Can even order you dead.
But when Biden became President, the fix didn’t work. Change is the way it must be.
“Overthrow the election result. The presidency, as you all know, was made specifically for me.
Insurrection? My patriots provided support and fought. That’s the real American way.
Like Washington and Lincoln, I also should be celebrated. I too should have my day.”
If he was smart, he’d be off to Russia, the land of freedom in pursuit of his personal grail,
to join his friend Vladimir Putin and avoid a lengthy stay in a good-old fashioned American jail.
But he’s still here and there’s no guaranty that a favorable ending is in sight
He still has followers. A sign for ungodliness. Blindness in the darkness of night.
Francis Scott Key: “O SAY CAN YOU SEE” a disaster that might not be so far away.
Guns to the right of me. Nuclear weapons to the left of me. Oh my God. Let us pray.
We must see clearly now. Good people must return us to the world of good and bright.
But that man can’t let go. His fifteen rounds are over, but we’re still in a championship fight.
Knockdown rules waived. Hitting below the belt allowed. ‘It ain’t over til it’s over.”
That’s his final message to send.
Will he cause the world to be blown away? Does he really care? God help us…The End!