The Don's been having it rough of late,
His face shows how he feels,
He gets no break, gets cut no slack,
And trips on his own spiels.
Since his time as a media star
It hasn't been so long.
He won by ten in every state:
The guy could do no wrong.
And sure he stuck that foot in mouth,
On every other day,
But it never seemed to bug his fans,
Or block his White House way.
So I wonder what has changed so fast,
What's so different now?
Is he so more than e'er a creep,
Or just a dry cash cow?
Methinks it's prob'ly the second choice:
More creep he couldn't be.
But now he doesn't sell newspapers,
He's just a wannabe.
Which means the election's one done deal,
There's little more to say,
Except to tell the Don to stop,
And hope he'll go away.
Hence the Wall Street Journal cries,
"Straighten up or take a hike!"
And editorial pages urge ol' Don
To walk on down the pike.
During the primes such talk went untalked,
No pundits told him to quit,
Though Don pledged dough to pay off thugs,
If enemies they hit.
Nowadays poor Trump's campaign
Is wondering what went wrong,
Bombast having been their stock in trade,
And now it's their swan song.
Yet the principle's not so hard to figure,
In this fine age and day:
The media they're our Lord that giveth,
But also taketh away.
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