THE GREAT MUCKY MUCK was worse than we thought.
His soul–if he had one–had long since been bought.
There wasn’t a heart where his heart ought to be,
For a brain–just a black hole, screaming me, Me, ME, ME!!!
He had some strong points–that surely was true,
But none that we’d want–not me and not you.
A liar, a cheater, a scoundrel, a faker,
No helping, no giving, just always a taker.
How did it happen, when did it begin?
The rotten, dead fish in the orange-colored skin?
Did Mommy not love him? Was Daddy too cruel?
Did he not get to bat, playing softball at school?
Was he not in the club with the popular kids?
Was it something he said, was it something he did?
We never shall know and we don’t really care.
Just like we don’t get it–the deal with his hair.
We just know he’s bonkers and mean as a snake
But snakes are more honest–they’re real and not fake.
Still now the main thing is the damage he’s done
To the country we love, for it isn’t much fun
To watch folks we care for in a charlatan’s spell
In an orange-colored cult, when they ought to know well
That nothing this guy is selling is real,
Not the ‘stolen election’ or the rest of his spiel.
It’s all about him–him, him, him, him, him, HIM.
About all of the money he can scrape, scam and skim.
About fleecing his flock as he always has done,
About losing and losing and claiming he’s won!
But he’s always a loser, he always will be,
So tiny inside that you really can’t see
If there’s even a real human being there at all,
Or just a dead cipher who does nothing but fall.
And falling and falling he grabs endlessly
For anything, anyone, what could it be?
To stop the descent, to fill the dark hole,
Perhaps a whole country–could that give him a soul?