Joe Biden is hunkering down, preparing to lose the debate.
Trying not to forget to remember, he can no longer relate.
His performance will be atrocious, he'll be told that he won.
Everyone knows that his subpar effort will always be spun.
He'll be applauded by his usual idiots, he'll take it to heart.
He won't realize that he's been spilled from his apple cart.
We'll be told he's in fine fettle, he's never been healthier.
He'll be thinking if he's reelected he's gonna get wealthier.
He'll be loaded up on his stories, chock full of his old lies.
We'll see his same old song and dance, nazi crap never flies.
Perhaps we'll be treated to Hunter dressed up as dear old dad.
With Joe everything is a farce, a dire situation, so darn sad.
The questions will be softballs, Biden will be well-rehearsed.
Folks will get angrier each time Trump's name is besmirched.
They're busy prepping Joe Biden now with a bug in his ear.
He'll stand up there looking stupid, wishing he could disappear.
Joe won't be able to hold his tongue, he won't let Trump talk.
Who the hell is going to stop him from hogging the clock.
He can't be slapped back to his senses, they were lost long ago.
He will never come across as intelligent, but he doesn't know.
He'll stand there like a puppet, hoping Barack pulls his chain.
Hoping someone pushes a button and wakes up his dead brain.
You can't call this campaigning, It's a Biden dog and phony show.
Joe's been told he has chutzpah, what that means he doesn't know.
D.L. Crockett -- 6/23/24