Cankles At The Polls
As 2016 is drawing to a close, here is an end of year song parody from Ron. Hopefully, it will come to pass 2017.
Cankles at the Polls
(with apologies to Casey)
The campaign wasn’t pleasant for the GOP last year;
Too many people running in a murky atmosphere.
Hispanic votes were crucial but The Donald slandered them,
While African-Americans saw white men to condemn.
The DNC had its debates set up for Hillary
On nights when no one would be tuning in on their TV.
O’Malley didn’t stand a chance and Bernie was a joke,
Except with communists and other unproductive folk.
The left-wing propaganda arm was practiced and adept,
The talking heads all ready with their mantras smooth and prepped,
To give the weary nation one more presidential “first”
And give Slick’s wife the thing for which she had an unquenched thirst.
But still her coronation as the leftist nominee
Was no assurance that she’d win the vote for PotUSy.
So on the trail she went all full of balderdash and lies
And confidence that she could pull the wool over our eyes.
The polls all gave her quite an edge on all the right-wing boys
Like Huckabee and Paul and Carson, Cruz with all his noise
And Rubio the turnabouts from their Tea Party days,
And Trump who speaks in bombast couched in overcooked clichés.
On terror she just echoes what the Kenyan fraud has said,
Like al Qaeda’s on the run and that bin Laden guy is dead.
She likes to tout her record in the Senate and SecState,
But at the bottom line it really isn’t all that great.
And being in the White House for eight years is not so hot;
The cook has been there longer but he hasn’t picked up squat.
Her stance on Islam tells us that she doesn’t know the score;
She calls it peaceful even though it’s beating us at war.
However, she has just what’s so politically correct,
That only Fiorina shares to help us all select
Who’ll fix our tax woes and our debt, our existential doom,
Those things that no man ever has, old breasts and one dry womb.
So glibly she steps up to grab the mike and give her spiel,
And take the softball questions from the press who come to kneel.
Then when some cub reporter slips his leash and throws a curve,
She simply spears it with her fork like some fat-free hors-d’oeuvre.
“What difference does it make!” she’ll bark if he says, “Benghazi.”
And, “Islam’s not a danger or a major enemy.
The greatest threat is climate change, and old Republicans
With pickup trucks and Bibles and too many extra guns.”
The smile is gone from Cankle’s face, her teeth are clenched in lust
For power in her final speech that asks us all to trust,
But voters hold the power to elect or to deny
And this time hopes were shattered by the depth of Cankles’ lie.
Oh, somewhere in this bankrupt land the lights are shining bright,
And “Happy Days Are Here Again” has played the entire night.
Conservatives are singing, and no Democrats are out,
For there is no joy in Swampville – mighty Cankles has struck out.
