It’s true, Mr. Bush, loose lips do sink ships!
Small lies glide over the slippery shell of continuity.
They prance about in backrooms of their own accord
Proffered from lips of tyrant, despot, king, traitor.
O! The fabrication in their dalliance is palpable!
Innocent children frolicking with rumors on brim,
Slapping, poking deceit `round and `bout a fat kid.
A child will, may, naturally mature out his absurdity
Leaving bully and deception to playground of infancy.
But you, sir, have forgotten to leave yours sleeping
Shelved in slumber, dead to the world in its cradle!
The leader of the free world is bathed in pettiness
Drenching backrooms, flinging spittle’s to kingdom!
You love to taunt the fat kid, the less fortunate!
Be the bully!
Cuffing and poking and jabbing and slapping
Smacking , stomping, squashing!
King of your mountain!
Lowering your grenade, and rocket,
Lobbing ghastly depleted uranium!
Nudging `bout Mesopotamia heaping
Arsenals of annihilation!
Child’s games without the ratings on the box!
No adult supervision!
Grow up, George!
The kingdom's not playground of your delusions!
You’ve leapfrogged recreation
Into this; our world’s intolerant collusion!
Be done with it you lackeyed, loutish,
malevolent damned imp!