There's an off pink naked statue on the road to Washington,
There's a well used little White House in the town;
There's a howling winking woman who hates the Mad Old Trump,
And the gods of polling all gaze down.
He was known as Mad Old Trump by media Washington,
He was raving far more than they could take;
But for all his foolish sound bites, he was worshiped in the banks,
And the woman feared his spotting of a fake.
He had watched her constant flouncing and the flashing of her teeth,
The fact that his guts were hated were part of his recall;
She was nearly seventy years and firm in her belief
That votes for Trump would be only small.
But he started asking questions and she could not find the words,
So things began to change;
I greatly regret that the rest of this revised version of the legend of Old Mad Trump and the green eye of the little political god has been redacted by literary advisers.
Come to your own conclusions.