He was elected, wingnut raised and corn fed,
teabags dragging on the chamber floor.
He did what he had to do to get southern boys to vote for you,
to grease the wheels to get you in the door.
But he must have said some things
that made them think that he was strange.
and made them wonder if he was one of them.
They called him in and questioned him, but he wouldn't make amends,
so they had to reel the poor boy in.
He was an absolute piece of shit to tell the truth,
but he never told the truth to me.
He never told the truth to you, don't think he ever set out to.
He was indifferent to honesty.
His positions were pre-ordained to help conceal his vast disdain
for anything that lessened his appeal.
His integrity was phoning in, totally Nixonian,
honing in the art of making deals.
He was a piece of work, more or less a total jerk;
His own mama called him an SOB.
Never worked an honest day, just kissed up to a better way
to sell the cow that you could get for free.
When he got out of line, they snatched him up from behind
and put him in a box with fancy trim.
Rolled him out for all to see his rendezvous with destiny.
Someone else will play the part of him.