Trump feigns his latest faux White House march;
faux fox on his dome looks like it’s fixed with starch.
Trump, the Short-Fingered Vulgarian;*
tonsorially dude’s a male-pattern barbarian.

He’s Trump, he’s Trump,
what’s on his head?
He’s Trump, rug clump on Trump,
spray-painted red.

Trump transcends trash/Trump’s triumph’s tripe when his trap trains
toward topics that are totally, thoughtlessly insane/inane.
When he pulls his head from his ass,
and opens up his mouth, there erupts huge blasts of gas.

The chump named Trump
boasts ’bout his bread.
But Trump’s, a plump chimp chump
who looks inbred.

Trump’s a dick who’s only in it for self-love;
Trump’s shtik is to “run” for office high above.
This primping simian mobster-speaks
and shows he’s at narcissism’s peak.

Seek Trump? Seek Trump?!
Out of their head
are chumps who plump for Trump. . .
must be brain-dead.

He’s Trump, he’s Trump—
Bankruptcy Rex.
Trump’s strumpet humps, pre-nup’d,
dumped become “ex-”.

Again Trump’s running for pres.—
what a joke!
Every jumbled thing he says—
what a joke!
Every bunk-full word he says—
blowing smoke.
You think Trump could become pres.?
Have more tokes!


* http://www.salon.com/2012/09/05/a_grab_bag_of_donald_trump_invective/