The Donald lies?
Yes, the Donald lies, a lot.
The Donald lies about big things,
And also about the smallest stings.
The Donald lies in the mornings,
And in the evenings too.
He lies about the colors,
Claiming up is down and red is blue.
He lies about his money,
He lies about his debt.
If the Donald’s lips are moving,
He’s lying, you can bet.
The Donald goes to sleep at night,
In his lonely three post bed.
The bottom wide enough for two fat feet,
The top to fit his swollen head.
He dreams a lonely little dream,
About the words he said,
And the people he’s misled.
He fashions even bigger lies,
About the day ahead.
When the Donald gets caught lying,
And there’s proof that he has lied,
The Donald lies, about his lying,
And blames another by his side.
The Donald’s an inveterate liar,
And such he always was.
He can’t recall all of his tales,
When questioned, his memory fails .
Then cornered, he shakes and quakes,
And, of course, prevaricates.
He never takes the blame,
Believe him and you risk your name,
Because the Donald has no shame.
For Donald, lying is a way of life,
He lied while cheating on his trusting wives.
Friends pretend to believe his newest lies,
Who wants to tell a bully what is true,.
Expose their back to his verbal knife,
And bring on endless personal strife.
“Of course I trust you Donnie,” they reply,
“You wouldn’t stoop to harm a helpless fly,”
“Or sully your good name with such a lie.”
Sure Donnie, “Sans toi, que je serais?”
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