The buck stops with Brandon, ain’t that a hoot.
He must mean male rabbit, what a lying old coot.
He’s done nothing right, He’s a crotchety damn fool.
He likes picking peanuts out of his stool.
I’m sick of his policies, I’m sick of his voice.
I’m sick of his hypocrisy, a catholic supporting pro-choice.
I’m sick of his smile, that sh*teating, lopsided grin.
Everything about him, gets under my skin.
I’ve grown to hate puppets, especially, puppet clowns.
He’s Out to Lunch Joe, he creates nothing but frowns.
I’m sick of his messages, I’m sick of his face.
He needs to back off and give us some space.
We don’t want your new deal, back off fossil fuel.
It gets really old, hearing you mewl and pewl.
You’re a simpering simpleton, in over your head.
Be thankful that someone hasn’t found a loose thread.
One that unravels all that you’ve done or said.
One that let’s the hot air out of your empty head.
You can’t fix anything, you can’t tie your own shoes.
You’d be dumped in a second without the fake news.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean to be mean.
Oh but, yes I do, I want you out of the scene.
It’s time you retire, go home, be king of your roost.
What are you waiting for, do you need a boost.
A boot to the butt, to send you on your way.
We’re sick of the political games that you play.
D.L. Crockett — 7/18/22