The Curmudgeon

YOU'LL COME FOR THE CURSES. YOU'LL STAY FOR THE MUDGEONRY.

Friday, January 20, 2017

For an Inauguration

My country, 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of Trumpery,
Of thee I sing:
Land where the natives died
For pilgrims' humble pride;
With economic slide,
Let freedom ring!

My native country, thee,
Land of the white and free
Sharp-elbow shove.
My heart with rapture thrills
At thy great butcher bills
From yearly nigger-kills
With freedom's love.

Let poison bloat the breeze
As we chop down the trees
To freedom's song;
While we are bold and brash
With our corporate dash,
And rich men take the cash -
What can go wrong?

Our fathers' God, to Thee,
Author of butchery,
To Thee we sing.
Fount of our bravery,
Genocide, slavery,
Greed, guns and knavery,
Republic's King.

Our joyful hearts today
Their grateful tribute pay,
Happy and free,
For all the toils and fears
And all the blood and tears,
Filling the next few years,
Donald, to thee.

Our nation's better men
Will feel so great again
With each new stunt.
Let the flags be unfurled,
Big mouths with pride be curled,
Little folk of the world
Grabbed by the cunt.

Samuel F Grimsnipe

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