Donald's Theme Poem by Randy McClave

Donald's is their kind of place
Where losers now go to win a race,
Now when they serve their hot fries
It now comes with a large bag of lies.
Dollar bills are up their nose
While with the hamburglar they now all pose,
Yellow mustard running down their back
While bragging about a dead man's sack.
Last time that I was there
I saw a dementia conning clown faced billionaire,
Donald's is your kinda place.
The clown he's going to replace.

Randy L. McClave