Donald’s Gold
(A song which preceded the presidency of Trump)
From his ivory tower
Clad in gold
There is nothing pure
He hasn't sold
From Empire states
To bottled hate
Cos all that glitters
Clips and folds
And fools rush in
for Donald’s gold
The chief of hoarders
Barks his orders
And cocks his leg
To mark his borders
Straw hats and twigs
And sheep like wigs
Will wisp about
When wolves marauder
And fools rush in
To serve the warder
They mock -ad hoc- of tiny hands
That point to signs of tiny glands
But men with needs
Turn tides and sands
Their referendums
Scorch the lands..
Replacing seeds
Of life for brands
And fools rush in
With cold press pans
From his ivory tower
Of kitsch gone cold
There ain’t nothing sure
He hasn't sold
From lynching ropes
To Latin hopes
Cos all that glitters
Clips and folds
And fools rush in
For Donald’s gold
As the grievous rally
Up his alley
To a nice warm bed
In his pro*state chalet
Since fear and hate
Wins mass*debates
They’ll settle scores
With a heartless tally
When trucks roll in to clear the valley
He'll savour views across to Cali
“la piel de naranja es gruesa”
¿comprendes?
They mock -ad hoc- of tiny hands
That point to signs of tiny glands
But men with needs
Turn tides and sands
Their referendums
Scorch the lands..
Replacing seeds
Of life for brands
And fools rush in
With cold press pans
From his Babel tower
Of clay with mould
There’s horse manure
To be sold
For angry mobs
The vote he robs
Cos all that glitters
Clips and folds
Pyrite ignites
The fear he sold
And fools rush in
For Donald’s gold