They are found under rocks, they hide in tall weeds.
They lurk in dark alleys, they plant evil seeds.
They worship abortion, they dream of dead babies.
Their drug of choice is ingestible, synthesized rabies.
Some live in the swamp, some prefer Capitol Hill.
They can be rightly classified as harbingers of ill.
Their leader is Brandon, who hides in his cellar.
 He comes out and he proves he's a nasty old feller.
He's followed obediently, like some bitter mad piper.
Could be they're attracted to the load in his diaper.
They shout obscenities, they protest and burn.
They dress up in black, they're too stupid to learn.
Their pro-nouns are fluid, they've all been abused.
They are victims of circumstance, eagerly used.
They are the flunkies, the junkies, the left's useful idiots.
The dregs of society, college taught mental midgets.
They are flotsom and jetsom, America's social debri.
They want reparations, they want everything free.
Some see them as losers, or purple haired freaks.
I see them as meth addicts, on anti-Trump tweaks.
They're amoral and evil, they whimper and whine.
They are dimwitted hypocrits, toeing the democrat line.
I won't call them demonrats, that sets good democrats off.
They're cheese eating losers feeding at the democrats trough.
D.L. Crockett -- 10/9/22