Here’s a little song,
about a man gone wrong,
while building up his evil empire.
And after months of ifs and buts,
the papers got the guts,
to call the Man of the Year a liar,
to call the Man of the Year a liar.
Hustlin’ and buslin’
across the big green lawn
stomping’ through the famous rose garden.
But every little rose,
turned up its pretty nose,
sayin’ “you owe the earth a pardon,”
sayin’ “you owe the earth a pardon.”
Fumblin’ and bumblin’
through the halls at night,
turning every light switch on,
searching for the room,
where you used to be the groom
but she’s packed all her jew-ler-ee and gone.
Yeah she’s scooped up all of her jew-ler-ee and gone.
Well the former resident,
and Missus President,
left you corn an lima beans and tomatoes.
You said, “rip ‘em all out.
They’ll only give me gout.
And that’s unbecoming for a future dictator.
That’s unbecoming for a future dictator.”
And you’re gonna build a wall,
the biggiest wall, the beautifulist wall round our borders.
But here’s what I think,
you better talk to a shrink,
‘cuz you’ve got serious psychological disorders.
You’ve got dangerous pathological disorders.
Well that’s my little song,
about a man gone wrong.
He’s nasty from his head to his feet.
When the dirt on this man finally hits the fan,
and no one gives a damn about his tweets,
he’ll be finally and forever obsolete.
about a man gone wrong,
while building up his evil empire.
And after months of ifs and buts,
the papers got the guts,
to call the Man of the Year a liar,
to call the Man of the Year a liar.
Hustlin’ and buslin’
across the big green lawn
stomping’ through the famous rose garden.
But every little rose,
turned up its pretty nose,
sayin’ “you owe the earth a pardon,”
sayin’ “you owe the earth a pardon.”
Fumblin’ and bumblin’
through the halls at night,
turning every light switch on,
searching for the room,
where you used to be the groom
but she’s packed all her jew-ler-ee and gone.
Yeah she’s scooped up all of her jew-ler-ee and gone.
Well the former resident,
and Missus President,
left you corn an lima beans and tomatoes.
You said, “rip ‘em all out.
They’ll only give me gout.
And that’s unbecoming for a future dictator.
That’s unbecoming for a future dictator.”
And you’re gonna build a wall,
the biggiest wall, the beautifulist wall round our borders.
But here’s what I think,
you better talk to a shrink,
‘cuz you’ve got serious psychological disorders.
You’ve got dangerous pathological disorders.
Well that’s my little song,
about a man gone wrong.
He’s nasty from his head to his feet.
When the dirt on this man finally hits the fan,
and no one gives a damn about his tweets,
he’ll be finally and forever obsolete.
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