It’s starting with executive orders Closing borders, appealing to hoarders Of wealth and riches. Those sons of bitches Pitch fits then they brew us trouble like witches. They rob and they loot, those dead eyes in suits They laugh and they cheer at “Roman” salutes And fifteen-hundred undeserved pardons For fifteen-hundred red hats with arm hard-ons.
And with no anticipation by the last administration of all the things a Trump term will bring, There was no inspiration to provide mitigation to those deep in the throes of life’s stings!
