by Smitty
Nineteen kinds of Arkanicide,
Formulated; tested; tried,
Yet even though so many’ve died,
The prize eludes Her claws.Though She blame all save Herself,
From Donald Trump to Santa’s elf,
Plys the refs with pernicious pelf,
She’ll never hear Her POTUS applause. https://t.co/J7BcTMxPE9— Pierre Delecto Can’t Get Over Macho Grande or 2012 (@smitty_one_each) October 31, 2019
She may indulge an Epstein spree,
On great or small or you or me,
Who dare to deem themselves The Free,
(When we’re really all Her vassals.)And crush our little bones to bits,
Who dare be seen from where she sits,
Disgusting little peasant tits,
And source of all Her hassles!— Pierre Delecto Can’t Get Over Macho Grande or 2012 (@smitty_one_each) October 31, 2019
“Bring me the top of Donald John!”
She raved and spat and threw a pawn,
“No Baptist, nor’s there charger on
Which to place that pumpkin.Oh that I had such a knight,
More useful than Hunter to fight,
Until this red queen sees the sight,
Of that blackguard’s fortunes sunken.— Pierre Delecto Can’t Get Over Macho Grande or 2012 (@smitty_one_each) October 31, 2019
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