Column: Under Siege: A poem about Donald Trump, to the tune of ‘The Yellow Rose of Texas’

Mary Schmich, Chicago Tribune

This is the latest, and close to last, installment of my ongoing rhyming chronicle of the presidency of Donald J. Trump, based, as always, on his words and acts. Note: It can be sung to the tune of “The Yellow Rose of Texas.”

UNDER SIEGE

I wake up in the mornings

And I can’t get out of bed

I pull the covers higher

But I can’t escape the dread.

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I don’t know how to spend my days

I don’t know what to do

Jack took away my Twitter toy

And robbed me of my coup.

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They stole the whole election, folks —

You know I can’t be beat —

And now the steal continues

As they tell me I can’t tweet!?!???

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Columns are opinion content that reflect the views of the writers.

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Geez, Twitter was my megaphone

My weapon and my stage

My reason to get up each day

My way to stoke the rage.

.

Then Zuckerberg suspends me?

And now Parler’s plug is yanked?

They’re banning my supporters

In the hopes that they’ll feel spanked?

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Dream on, you big tech weenies

You will never drain my swamp!

My fans will spring up somewhere else

Each time that you go whomp!

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At least my subjects love me still

They know that I’m their liege

They’ll die to save my kingdom

And protect me from this siege.

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You know what really guts me, tho?

The meanest, saddest snub?

Is how the PGA announced

They won’t play at my club.

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Sniffles.

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Don’t talk to me of treason

Or the Capitol’s assault

‘Tis I who am in danger

My supporters aren’t my fault!

.

Oh, spare me all the blather

Like “sedition” and “incite”

It’s not my fault folks rioted

Because I told them, “Fight!”

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It’s not my fault they stormed the Hill

And climbed the Congress walls

Or stole old Nancy’s lectern

While they rampaged through the halls.

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It’s not my fault they’re tacky

And they wore those low-class clothes

The camouflage, the capes, the horns!

Embarrassing, Lord knows.

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It’s not my fault they shoved the cops

Or that a few folks died

If anyone claims otherwise

The truth is they have lied!

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It’s not my fault they love me

And they think I love them back

Their love for me’s my heroin

My daily dose of crack.

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It’s not my fault the congressmen

Were cooped up in a room

Afraid that all those rioters

Might bring their death and doom.

.

So some were anti-maskers?

And they let the virus spread?

You can’t blame me for congressmen

Who wind up sick or dead.

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Coughs.

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I won’t be held “accountable”

Oh, how I hate that word

I’ve never been accountable

To start now is absurd.

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Apologize? Forget it!

And resign? You must be sick!

I vow to go out swingin’

I’m no wimp like Tricky Dick.

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And what about my civil rights?

Don’t tread on my free speech!

The 25th amendment? Bah!

How dare they say, “Impeach!”

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Impeachment will stoke anger, tho

And that won’t be all bad

I sharpen anger like a sword

When all my fans get mad.

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Sniffles.

.

My enemies are everywhere

Don’t mention bleepin’ Pence

That coward has abandoned me

He’s safe up on his fence.

.

My staff is fleeing from my house

Like roaches chased by fear

But I? I’m going nowhere

I am gonna stay right here.

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This whole thing reeks of Orwell —

No, I haven’t read his stuff —

But people say he’s very good

His words are very tough.

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You say the right wing’s got it wrong?

“Orwellian” means like me?

I’m sorry, I heard otherwise

While watching Fox TV.

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Yawns. Stretches.

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OK, I’m getting out of bed

I’ve got to get to work

I never, ever want it said

That all I did was shirk.

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I’ll give away some medals

And I’ll show I’m tough — I will!

I’ll do some executions

Cause I’ve still got time to kill.

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Some say that I’m deluded

And some say I’m evil — pure

Some say that everything I’ve done

Is ‘cause I’m insecure.

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Some say I am like Nero

Who played fiddle while Rome burned

But, no, I am no Nero

Cause that loser never learned ...

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That when your kingdom’s burning

You cannot just up and flee

You’ve got to stage a photo-op

And be seen on TV.

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Looks in mirror, cinches tie

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Those Texas folks still like me

So I’m boarding Air Force One

To go somewhere that’s warmer

And they love a big shotgun.

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I’ll hit the town of Alamo

To stand upon my stump

To praise my giant, awesome wall

And cry: Remember Trump!

mschmich@chicagotribune.com