A bald-headed freak who gyrates
Like a fool spinning up there on stage,
Is polluting the political arena
And thinks that he’s some kind of sage.
‘Chuck rocks at the bitch if she speaks truth,’
Are the words that this foul man spewed out,
As he contradicted himself with each word
That vomited from his ill-informed mouth.
‘She has no right to say what she does,’
Is what this foul creature first said,
‘If it’s her right to speak, it’s ours to throw rocks,’
Is the lie that passed from his head.
‘Punish her because she dares to think,’
Said this freak without a sane thought,
Circular logic flowed from his foul mouth
Conformity is what he’s been taught.
As a politician his job was to protect her
But that’s not the way of this man,
His ideas are pointless and fleeting
Like children’s circles drawn in the sand.
Circular logic is always obscene
But so is this bald-headed, gyrating freak,
Though he never has anything to say
When in public he always must speak.
This bald-headed, gyrating geak
Has never believed in the truth,
Talking his way round in circles, so
It is justice that always must lose.
A beanpole without a brain
Yes his head has brown-matter inside,
And whenever he shot off his foul mouth
Truth seekers sat down and cried.
Sticks and stones will break his bones
With any kind of luck,
Then democracy can return
When this monster comes unstuck!
© Copyright 2011
Philip Roberts, Melbourne, Australia
© Copyright 2016 Philip Roberts. All rights reserved.