Mojo
Britain has its mojo,
Donald has his trump –
They pump their fists
And shake their wrists
When out there on the stump.
As with General Tojo
Here’s Donald’s razor wit –
A bitter guile,
An empty smile
And talking utter shit.
The public – also Bojo –
Don’t buy what Donald sells,
As well as doubting
What Dave’s spouting:
Their speech is off. It smells.
But Britain has its mojo –
Perhaps not in Dundee –
And we insist it
Earns its biscuit.
So kill some kids for me.
And, dancing like a Gojo,
As thin as Donald’s quiff,
We gift to George
Some words to forge,
And watch his tongue grow stiff.
