Her facelifts were slipping, her breasts were now droopy.
She dealt with incontinence, she often felt poopy.
She kept her jug closer, She'd become quite the lush.
Nothing phased Nancy, you could not make her blush.
She was not out to pasture, she still had some moves.
She controls juicy secrets that are cash on the hoove.
She pined for the old days, she felt cheated at best.
Though that didn't stop her from feathering her nest.
The kickbacks would keep coming, for favors done.
She was no kind of saint and sure as hell wasn't a nun.
She was a retiring old biddy, returning home soon.
 Perhaps from San Fran, she could still call the tune.
She had a black book, it was chock full of names.
She had prepared well for these kind of games.
She knew who'd buried bodies, knew where they were.
She wouldn't hesitate to see them disintered.
It would not be surprising if she has Epstein's book.
She has no conscience, she's a conniving old crook.
Her partners in corruption, must be fearing exposure.
They might seek peace of mind or seek after closure.
I'm sure Nancy's protected, she's no rube in the woods.
Her bank account will keep growing if she's holding the goods.
This might be conjecture, but it's Nancy's political style.
She's not one to stop short, she will go the whole mile.
D.L. Crockett -- 11/29/22