THE BRAZEN LAWYER FROM THE SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NYC

THE BRAZEN LAWYER FROM THE SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NYC

Playing poker in a smoke-filled room with old Edward G. Robinson
Looking at Dragnet and Joe Friday as a teeny on Saturday afternoon
Daddy held up the Milkman and spent eighteen months in Sing Sing
Further up from the Tappan Zee Bridge in a town called Ossining
Very close by is a Trump Golf Course for people with a silver spoon
Watching WTC seven, his headquarters, the king of the cosmopolitan
Listening to Silverstein say “pull it” as all gangsters were on the upswing
Became America’s mayor as Bid Laden did master his mujahedeen
Got the stamp of approval from the Father of the Reps from Death Valley
Selling his 20 Team Borax while Bonanza was starving for oxygen
Holding up Sadaam Hussein as the farmer of the right extreme
The Iran Contra was a blow out as the dollar sunk for the Grand Finale
Then he was received by George W. like a star with a stretch limousine
Trying to run for Prez yet he ended up with a sleazy Long Tall Sally
Returning to his monumental task of practicing as a cheesy charlatan
Finding it important to spread the Big Lie like Calvary to the Philistine
Recently on Epiphany screaming Trial by Combat at his client’s rally
Hanging with the scum of Ukraine digging up dirt with a measly twig
Lev and Igor shot a famous video with our mayor bleak and so obscene
Thinking it would be possible to depose of sweet Marie Yovanovitsch
Nonetheless the truth surfaced with a Quid pro Quo and a thingumajig
Then came Vladimir conspiring digging Rootie Kazootie a deeper ditch
Being submerged in quicksand as Billy Barr left his illegitimate gig
Suddenly the Feds busted into his office with a bloody search warrant
Ringing the bells at Saint John’s at midnight as the nightingale did tally
the counting of the minutes as all is crystal clear our lawyer is abhorrent.
Blistering is the evidence of his blatant disgusting behaviour from which
we must throw the book at his leaking hair dye; this has become apparent.
A brazen attitude he taught his son who has a terribly menacing wicked itch
to become the New York governor yet Daddy’s fate is very nontransparent.
For whom the doomsday clock tolls lies looming over his unattractive pitch
which never raised an eyebrow as the insurrection became so torrent.
Meaningless jargon taking by no one seriously is his melancholic tune
His days of freedom are numbered as the calendar turns the whirligig.
Soon the merry month of May will end and Corpus Christi comes in June
to bury him unressurectable as the town crier gives a damning declarant.
The Russian Roulette is perhaps a degree more interesting we assume
for the checkmate has come despite the invented story he must renege.
The boasting bum has blurted his final phrases for the nighttime news
as the hand cuffs are waiting by Chappaqua where his Daddy drank a swig.