You're all on notice that my hat's in the ring,
Though it's a sad, moth-eaten, ragged old thing,
That I used in January to cap my snowmen,
And snowwomen, snowtrans and of course snow-them.
So if Dems refuse to give me the nod,
Only my snow-person will feel defraud'.
.
But heck, SOMEbody has to run against Joe,
Who won't make the Innaug', he's getting so slow,
Creaking up the Oval and with voice of grog,
Announcing, stating and declaiming through fog
The policies grim of the U.S. of A.,
On three-by-fives scribbled by someone with say.
.
What's on 'em's the take of the house writer-ghost,
Or the chief of spooks 'bout what spooks the chief most,
Like bald white supremies, Vlad P, or piped gas,
Oppressors like China, though Iz' gets a pass.
Joe mumbles where he sees great evil distinct,
Like a twelfth-round boxer just using instinct.
.
Not that his handlers are distressed in the least,
For them it's heaven, it's a moveable feast!
They find the prez the most reasonable man,
Who trusts them to run things according to plan:
To shake up this Earth and get out of their rut,
Like killing the Nord Stream, that pain in the butt.
.
Which is why the country needs me as its prez,
To be in charge and not to play Simon Says,
And throw out rascals and neocons alike,
Plug the pipeline, apologize to the Reich,
Tell Z to sign peace, lift all those dumb sanc's,
Say humble "You're welcomes" to the whole world's thanks.
.
Which is why, you're thinking, I won't get the nod,
Though I get endorsed and cozy up to The Squad,
Decry the sad drift of policy and culture,
I.D. the Deep State, that national vulture.
But you're wrong -- HAH! -- the nom's mine for the taking,
Unless more hats fly in, or Joe's just faking.
