He’s such a teeny, tiny, loser man.
A baby in a man-sized orange suit.
When faced with how to place a travel ban
He always took the childish racist route.
A fortune bragged, inherited, then lost.
But not to worry, he’ll feign charity.
And when he loses, he lies at any cost.
The party dies but he just swallows pity.
His sportsmanship is mere insistent screams.
He cares for naught save lies he spews each day.
He is the champ of winning in his dreams.
Knows naught of friendship, love, or learn or play.
One day, the naked king will lie alone.
And live alone in tweet-space on his phone.
(I’m King! I’m King! Of Everything!)
petersironwood 
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