His mind was rumpled but his pants were pressed.
His skull was empty but he seemed well dressed.
He spoke ragtag gibberish but his shoes were shined.
Everyone covered their ears cause he often whined.
His socks were rubberbanded to his skinny old gams.
His brain couldn't weigh more than a couple grams.
He liked to whisper which he followed with screams.
His gig was selling Barack Obama's deluded schemes.
His pantseat was shiny when it wasn't stained brown.
He'd make a great court jester, an insufferable  clown.
He thought he was popular, but passed for insane.
We knew nothing worked in his burnt out old brain.
He could read a teleprompter, maybe yes maybe no.
Everyone got a few laughs, he was too stupid to know.
The GOP are his enemies but he doesn't know why.
Ukraine, Iran and China, give him payoffs on the sly.
He sold out, he's compromised, he works for Jinping.
He's a self-made man that doesn't know a damn thing.
He's got his denials down pat, his excuses rehearsed.
It's all about loans to his brother, how he's reimbursed.
He has a good conscience, he does not feel qualms.
He's a moral transgressor, with cold, clammy palms.
His face reminds one of insanity, his smile unnerves.
He never gives a straight answer, he likes throwing curves.
His time on earth has been wasted, look at him now.
Satan's plan coming to fruition, is what this fool allows.
He's a sick twisted old man, dressed up in wolf's clothes.
Carrying the stench of the swamp, assaulting our nose.
A puppet for Barack Obama, a frontman for the devil.
He may profess to be godfearing but his soul is disshevelled.
D.L. Crockett -- 1/8/24