• Panorama scuds along yon wall,
       traipsing nowhere, treading time,
       trolling for contents in the room.
  The turkey grease slimed onto the table cloth
       then back onto the sleeve
       of the turkey in the white house.

• Bill be the ape who uses its name
       to crucify others, to hatefully shame,
       defame, blame and maher.

• Come hither broom swiftly and sweep clean the halls
       of rule by corruption and legal crime law.

• Panorama scuds along yon wall,
       traipsing nowhere,
       treading time,
       trolling for contents in the room.

• Shallow and Sorrow joined in the game
       where Congress Casino
       met out their pain.

• Imagination lost.
  Lazy and soft.
  So says the foolish Wiseling in Chief,
       ignorant mind unsheathed.

• Nimble suits and ties
  suit not thou clumsy glower
  of fancied anarchy for power,
       bitter and sour.

• Hope’s similtude sauntered aimlessly
  betwixt souls scurrilously seeking Sanity’s answer
       with chains of change.

• Swollen fear knows not portends insecution
  against the wane of constitutional glory
  for incest with ignominy.

• Gloria Airhead puffed up for press,
       wore ugly pants, never a dress,
       shingle hung out, “Misery for Less.”

• Just one big thought, but they cannot,
       with minds sautéed in Marxist pot.

• Shadow box, off your backlight.
  Raise murky sheet that right might be bright.

• The candidate’s coolness tickled up Matthew’s leg.
  Has this sexism thing turned into a plague?

• There is a cliff in time where all must stand
      and choose a lunge toward death
            or soaring flight.

• Inside Gloria Airhead’s monstrous mouth
       can be spied innocence fried.

• Sickly sour innuendos used to devour
  and snatch from jaws of Victory before it can overcome.

• Came cry come see come see look at me.
  Did they three times for naught
       see truth but hence from lie did flee.

• Simple minds of thoughts unproven,
       “ditzildorfs’ not cool, not groovin’,
       out of date with today’s non-melody.

• Imagination, quite by chance,
       sat on ‘lectric pin to spark a bloom,
       ideas locked away from crushers.

• (sing it) Nana nana nana playground noise.
  Nanny nanny nanny government noise.
  Bamma bamma bamma dictator joys.

• Sinkhole swallow up offending screams
       and cover up their weed seeds
            ere they spread.

• A joke hopped on a big black bus
       to drive around behind Congress
       and cut the Founder’s strings.

• Saul alinsky for, not friend.
  Hatchet man Rove opponents will bend.
       Non-elite to Hell will send.

• Lil’ Tweet, Lil’ Tweet, where have you been?
  “Floating midst millions of opinions out there.”

• Extreme Left be right.
  Extreme Right be left.
  Yet never the twain shall meet.

• Hands in the air.
  Pants on the ground.
  Sex in the tents.
  Hatred abounds
       with Jihadist sound.
            Orlando.

• Hitch your wagons to our Death Valley train.
  Bring no food.  Expect no rain.
  A journey for politically insane.

• Ineptly Stupid,
       nothing to do with Cupid,
            everything to do
            with prudently politically inane.

• BO, BO,
       to #Occupy we go,
            to be your slaves,
                 your little knaves,
       BO, BO. Ho. Ho... (whistle)

• Oily steam rising, hot cup-o-Qaddafi,
       dour lumpy ratings,
       creamy hypocrisy,
       MSM stirs self-righteously.

• Lil’ Tweet, Lil’ Tweet, have you been heard?
  “I am not certain, but the din’s worth repeating.”

• I am the mob,
     confused swirls of thought,
       mellow I’m not.

• I am the mob. I have not a job,
  just plenty of hate on my plate.

• Regulation sang a song,
       a very sour note,
       while Flea Bag Mob toked on its bong
            and then forgot to vote.

• Squalor Park yon pig dogs barking,
       at mirage like commies sharking,
       all a wallowing in filthy ignorance.

• To Congress, to Congress,
            to threaten and point.
       STOP! Mr. President,
            go smoke a joint.

• Protest mobs diddle,
       as hard workers fiddle,
            a tune of profit success,
       while the mob wonders why it has less.

• Aeolian tea mellifluously ringing.
  A-holian mob feloniously dinging.
       Hum Ding
            Hum Dink.

• One turd says to the other.
       “This Occupy mob smells fine.
       They must be full of a lot of shit.
       How bout a little more lime?

• Iran ban to fan a plan to kick a can back to Iran.

• Why so much hate denying debate,
       closed tight in mind,
       protest and grind,
       one dram of security pray you will find.

• Old Ron Paul was a cranky old soul,
       cranky old soul was he.
  He called for an end to war and the Fed,
       then promptly scurried off to bed.

• Huntsman, oh Huntsman, where did’st thou go?
  “Over here on the left where I’m needing you so.”

• Another great debate.
  An ever narrowing slate,
       while POTUS stirs his mess,
       that guarantees his fate.

• I think I’ll run round Congress
       flipping them my bird.
  To claim I’ll never Dictate
       is scoffing the absurd.

• Beware useful fools ere history repeats,
       betrayed by its liars,
       destroyed by cloaked cheats.

• His Big Distraction went into action
       to help his colluders perpetrate wrong.

• Half track broken records
       spinning out their pain,
            click and scratch
            and pop a lot,
       yet seem a bit insane.

• Borge pooping on cruisers, living dead cloned
       no brains to wash,
       locked in the mindless arms of Labor and cult behavior.

• Above the din of Twitterville rings
       a Melody, Pledge, Michellian Wit,
  that makes loons fume
       and spit a bit.

• If in his place Steve’s grave had swallowed Soro’s face,
  the world would have erupted in song.

• Ampumph, I am your dictator.
  Swagger and swell and I.
  Give me all your money whilst I poke you in the eye -- slave.

• Francis Scott Piven; Francis Scott Key
       he penned about freedom,
       as she sneezed contrastingly.

• Obama walks on water.
  He even tickles legs.
  Today he made an omelet
       using dirt and rotten eggs.

• Are you excited?  Bet you cannot wait. 
       Hush.
  The President’s about to speak ----- AGAIN?  Sheesh!

• Jobs, a Capitalist the whole world mourns and cheers,
       without the two,
       there would not be
            the pod and pad I fear.  RIP Steve

• I hated my computer.
  Its blue screen was pure grief.
  But Steve Jobs solved our problem
       and gave the world relief.  RIP

• Piven was driven to livin
       deep in the depths of Hell,
       to be surrounded
            by those who love her
            and deem their doom so swell.

• Layed back tweets and tweets so formal,
       what they all have in common
       is none of them are normal.

• Mob and Rule collided,
       knew not which was who,
       as Piven gazed on gaily
            at the hateful few.

• They watered the weeds on the Wall Street pavement, then wondered why they wouldn't grow.

• To shout political chaos in nature's defense
       whilst choosing a concrete jungle death,
       enslaves nature itself?

• He fell in love with his ideas, the ones that fell down dead.
  Surprised was he for he'd not thought to dread.

• Moralistic Marxists turning green with envy, crumble unnoticed into dust.

• Whoopdeedoo-fiddledeedee, yelped the folks with glee.
  A traitor lay in tiny bits no longer trying to flee.

• Bake a cake of politics frosted over with lies.
  When the people take a bite,
        its flavor they'll despise.

• San-ta Clause is com-ing town and it-- AIN'T__  Ba-rach__ Obama."

• When political games sit down to play
       they pick human pieces to move,
       then blow on media for luck."

• Somebody tell the POTUS
       the camera isn't on.
  Please tell the POTUS
       his people no longer fawn.

• Please, give me money?
  I need it for my campaign.
  Those loyal hope and changers
       are really starting to wane."

• 1 friend on left, 1 friend on right,
       in shadow or in light,
            who banter on into the night,
       who knows which 1 is bright?

• A cloud in the crowd rains in their pockets chilly wettness of debt.
  Like sheep they wonder not how nor why.

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