Their goals are hidden, their motives insane.
They take after Brandon, no brain no pain.
Their steps are measured, full out stampede.
They'll trample babies to get what they need.
It's never pretty, when they get together.
They're quick to weaponize a change in the weather.
To prove a lie true, they commit any sin.
Deceitful basta*ds, no end to their spin.
They dig their holes deeper covering their lies.
They love to ask questions, but don't like replies.
After a quick fifteen minutes their memory fades.
They creep off the stage clutching fake accolades.
Opponents of sanity, undeserving of trust.
Usurping the power for which they all lust.
Their names are legion their causes moot.
An old, new face of evil has again taken root.
Sticking close to the swamp, loving the scum.
A safe sanctuary for them and all their chums.
They're easily frightened and then double-down.
They can't be debated, their thinking's not sound.
The dregs of society from the bottoms of barrels.
Skunks, rats and weasels, all of them ferals.
Loved by their mothers but that's about it.
Perhaps other born losers might give a sh*t.
D.L. Crockett -- 1/4/23