You Can Dress Up a Pig

A filthy little rhyme about the orange hog at the microphone, the cultcakes who clap for the slop, and the eternal truth that no suit, tie, or haystack wig can turn a fraud into a leader.

Oh, look at the hog
with the wig of old hay,
snorting up lies
like it’s breakfast buffet.

With a grunt and a wheeze
and a smug little sneer,
he oinks out his bullshit
for all cultcakes to hear.

“I’m rich! I’m so smart!
I’m the best! I’m the king!”
Meanwhile he screws up
each goddamn thing.

He wallows in filth,
he rolls in his slop,
then blames every mess
on the folks at the shop.

He huffs and he puffs
through his jowls full of grease,
then calls it “great leadership,”
law, order, and peace.

But the hog is a fraud,
a loud orange ham,
with the morals of mold
and the brains of canned spam.

He squeals about freedom,
he squeals about crime,
while stuffing his pockets
again and each time.

So here is the truth,
plain, simple, and blunt:
you can dress up a pig,
but it’s still Donald Trump.