HE’S THE TRUMP!

HE’S THE TRUMP!
(To the tune of “You’re the Top,” by Cole Porter)

He’s the Trump!
He’s the plastered hairdo.
He’s the Trump!
And he’s all hot air too.
He’s the jerk who rants, bout immigrants, down south.
Says they’re either rapists or terrorists. He’s
the biggest mouth!

He’s the Trump!
Thinks he’s presidential.
What a chump!
He’s so non-essential.
We could do without, his ego-touting stump.
But we’ll have to suffer through it.
He’s the Trump!

He’s the Trump!
Out to start a schism.
He’s the Trump!
Buys his own Trump-ism.
Called an ego-maniac, a yak, a grump.
Still you can’t escape this Donald.
He’s the Trump!

Lyric © 2015 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire

All rights reserved

A COUNTRY THAT WORSHIPS THE GUN

What should a father give to his son on the son’s twenty first birthday?  I have four daughters; but, had I a son, I would hope to have given him compassion, kindness, intuitiveness, wisdom, empathy and an appreciation for the common thread binding all human beings who inhabit this tiny rock hurtling through dark space we call Earth.  One father chose instead to give his son a gun, saying: “Go forth!” and so the son did.  I posted this lyric on August 7, 2012 following another senseless act, the Aurora theatre mass shooting.  Calls for tighter gun laws were again blocked by the NRA.  It seems we’ve learned nothing.

A COUNTRY THAT WORSHIPS THE GUN (To tune of “You Can’t Get a Man with a Gun,” by Irving Berlin, from Broadway Musical “Annie Get Your Gun.”)

Say it’s your right, it’s freedom
But tell me why you need ‘em?
All those Glocks aren’t free when done.
Mourning folks go on paying
For gravestones that need laying
In a country that worships the gun.

What’s feels godly or pleasant?
‘Bout killing a poor pheasant
As it climbs skyward towards the sun.
Oh, the hunt’s very sporting
|When the bird is not retorting.
In a country that worships the gun

The sun beats, a hot one,
Some moron loads a shotgun.
On a dog day of summer, run!
From Oak Creek to Aurora
Could the logic here be poorer?
Of a country that worships the gun.

Love the gun, Love the gun
No one feels he’s a man with no gun
Love the gun, love the gun
We’re a country that worships the gun

A gun, handy when rural,
On a city street’s immoral,
Where a shooting is drive by fun.
But they’re happy I’m guessin’
On the board at Smith & Wesson.
In a country that worships the gun

And while one cannot stifle
A nut holding a rifle
And a grudge heavy as one ton.
Though the devil hath charmed him
In the name of G-d, who’s armed him?
But a country that worships the gun

Love the gun, love the gun
No one feels he’s a man with no gun
Love the gun, love the gun.
We’re a country that worships the gun

In some states it’s no harder,
Than acquiring bottled water.
Want to buy ammunition son?
Whereby folks ordinary,
Packing arms quite military.
Want a country that worships the gun

Much more than a hobby,
The money-rich gun lobby
Touting sales, many a billion.
Sloughs off loss everyone saw.
Opposing every gun law.
In a country that worships the gun

Love the gun, love the gun
No one feels he’s man with no gun
Love the gun, love the gun.
We’re a country that worships the gun

Though the Second Amendment
Our high Court holds ascendant
There are standing militias none.
Therefore citizens voting
Can attend the polls now toting
In a country that worships the gun

For on-screen chilling violence
And movie mogul silence,
There’s a crime that should be undone.
What country says prayers,
while it stares,
through the crosshairs?
A country that worships the gun

Love the gun, love the gun
No one feels he’s a man with no gun
Love the gun, love the gun
We’re a country that worships the gun

Lyric © 2012, 2015 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved