Twas The Night Before The Inauguration
This is my retake on the classic poem, "Twas The Night Before Christmas" but about the inauguration. Please, if you are a Trump supporter, do not get offended by this. This is simply me being creative and portraying my personal feelings with a pinch of satire.
Twas the night before the dystopia, and all through the house,
All of the beer was going into my mouth.
The votes have been cast with a notion of fear,
And it’s evident that the end is preeminent and near.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
Most likely unaware of the future we dread.
And I on the couch getting ready to FAP,
To take my mind far away from this crap.
When from around the nation arose such a clatter,
the sound of protesters, protesting the matter.
But their words will be drowned like they have in the past,
Because unfortunately, we can’t rise from the ash.
Our voices mean nothing, when we scream “NO”,
In a system where we are not directing the show
When what do my throbbing, aching ears hear?
That he’s already planning for “4 more years”.
How can he jump to an assumption so quick?
The answer is simple, the guy is a dick!
And the time approaches when they certify his name,
And he can finally play, start playing his game.
“I’ll build a wall! Yeah! That’ll fix em’,
And I’ll put it to Muslims where I decide to stick em’!
And fuck those freaks with their religion and shawls,
While we’re at it, fuck women, cause I’m a man and have balls!!”
It’s like a hurricane of evil, and bullshit and lies.
Are we going to go bankrupt? Are we gonna die?
Up through the rankings and primaries he flew,
And now it seems there’s nothing we can do.
This is now happening, like a real life spoof.
It’s clear it was tampered, there’s freaking proof!!!
But no matter how much I try to keep from this frown,
He is right at our door, about to knock it right down
He dresses in fine suits, and shoes on his feet,
And he talks like a reject from Sesame Street.
He arrived in a limo, and wouldn’t step on the cracks,
And shouted promises empty, along with made up “facts”.
He seems very lumber for the ego he carries
And his palms are tiny, most likely hairy.
He makes these expressions like he’s being anal probed.
And his plans for our future? He doesn’t seem to know.
His hair is either a wig or a weave,
And his skin is the color of of foliage leaves.
He has weird thin lips, for the lies he will tell me.
And shakes he laughs, at the times that have befell me.
He looks like an old heirloom, collecting dust on the shelf.
I laugh when I see him, in spite of myself.
With a wink of his eye, and a shake of his head,
The life in my our future, seems suddenly dead.
He speaks many words, but seems to not know how to work.
And fills all the pussies, with a grab and a jerk.
Yet still he has the nerve to look down his nose,
At the majority of us that pay for our clothes.
And every critique is met with dismissal,
This is the guy we’re gonna trust with the missiles?!
The people fed in, and took more than a bite,
You seem tired, America…. Nighty night.