The Yugest Bigly Nursery Rhyme Ever

Donald J. Trump Sits down with a slump And shits into his golden throne With his face all a grump He examines the lump And declares that the stink's not his own Now often embattled His mind becomes saddled As sure as his mellon is orange While his pride is unrattled His world view's quite addled Stuck closed like an old rusty door hinge It's a quarter past four But Trump doesn't snore As he tweets out deplorable zingers "You can't trust Al Gore!" And "That woman's a whore!" Tapped out by his sausage like fingers From Mexican rapes To pageant sex tapes He's often a bit too defense-y Though he claims they're just japes Clinton's measuring drapes For her new office over on Pennsy

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