I have some bad news for you Stan:
You’ve been reassigned as Suzanne.
They’ve checked out your bits
And they think that best fits,
As you are somewhat short of a man.
His rise in the polls is astounding
The U.S. – could it be rebounding?
He gives not a damn,
And he bows to no man;
He’s all of the ‘experts’ confounding.
Unleash the Hounds!
He’s popular – goodness! It’s stunning.
The entrenched elites, they are running.
From their cozy cartels
Issue sulphurous smells;
For Donald, their servants are gunning.
The Donald’s campaign was on fire
Till he stumbled and fell in the mire.
He tripped over his mouth
And his votes headed south;
The guy’s not a professional liar.
I’m ready to fly like a dove.
I’m loaded with weapons of love –
Of love for the free;
When jihadists I see,
I’ll shower them with bolts from above.
His land is worn and wearied;
Its colours drab and pale,
With hills that once were mountains
Reduced to sand and shale.
Where trees grey-green and twisted,
With black and furrowed bark,
Against the hazy skyline
Stand desolate and stark.
Sun beating without mercy,
Dry year upon dry year,
With frost in winter burning
What summer doesn’t sear.
So does he yearn for softer scenes
Of pine and snow-capped peaks?
Of misty fells and vales of green
And cold clear-running creeks?
No, he would not forsake it;
Be from this brown land torn.
His spirit lies within it,
For he is native born.
We aren’t mice – we will march when we please!
We are men – we will never appease!
But let’s not be hasty;
First try something tasty –
We Belgians do so enjoy cheese.