Our humble president has just crowned himself a hero by claiming he’d have rushed right into the Marjory Stoneman Douglas School during the shooting, even without a gun.

 I’D RUTH RIGHT IN WITHOUT A GUN
(To the tune of “That’s Why the Lady is a Tramp,” by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart)

I am a hero with medals galore
I’ve rescued swimmers while safe on the shore.
I’m so courageous, all threats are a bore.
And I’d rush right in without a gun.

I hit a homer of World Series fame.
I scored a touchdown in a Super Bowl game.
If you don’t believe me, Fake News is to blame.
And I’d rush right in without a gun.

I used my clout, to skip Viet Nam.
But truth be damned.
I’m brave.
No knave.

I grab girl’s privates, to me that is fun.
But I’d rush right in without a gun.

Lyric © 2018 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

 

ONE MORE TIME

ONE MORE TIME
(To tune of Who Will Buy by Lionel Bart from 1968 film Oliver, which was based on the 1960 London West End musical of the same name)

Who will end this horrible feeling?
Feel so bad, I swear I might die
Who will end the slaughter of our children?
So many guns out there to buy

By and by, one engineered for killing.
Does its job, the logic here defies
Children die and no one’s even willing
To challenge those gun-lobby guys

And when we’re looking in our mirrors
How do we face ourselves each day?
And who when finally meet their maker
Will hide those cards from NRA

There’s no time, another sad mass shooting
One more crime committed right here by
Those who sob inside remaining silent
Refusing to oppose the lie
Allowing anyone to buy
Another weapon one more time

Lyric © 2018 by Robert S. Steinberg
All rights reserved

WHEN DONALD TWEETS

WHEN DONALD TWEETS
(To the tune of, Up on the Roof,” by Gerry Goffin and Carole King as recorded by The Drifters (1962))

When Donald Trump wakes up on his throne
He reaches for his phone
And starts to type.
Begins to tweet what’s gotten him steamed
Or what he’s dreamed
To need a morning hype.

When Donald tweets what’s fuming in his head.
The White House staff all wish they’d stayed in bed.

Let me tell you now

A president should measure his words
Not seem absurd
Like someone’s angry aunt.
And one who is the voice of the State
Should ruminate
Like Plato and not rant.

But Donald proudly brags he doesn’t read.
How could we let an ignoramus lead?

And do I have to say that

Swagger on the nuclear stage
And ego rage alarm
the world elites
The missile codes are under his thumb
So we’re at DEFCON I
When Donald Tweets.
When Donald Tweets
When Donald Tweets

 

Lyric © 2018 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

HOW WE MOP THE MAP

Gerrymandering is so unfair that one would like to think the courts would find it a no-brainer.  Yet it is far from certain that this Supreme Court will not uphold a state legislature’s right to draw whatever district voting boundaries it feels like drawing regardless of how contorted those boundaries become or whether they cause a loss of voting parity to many.

HOW WE MOP THE MAP
(To the tune of, What I Did for Love, by Marvin Hamlisch and Edward Kleban, from the 1975 Broadway Musical, A Chorus Line.)

Kiss your seat goodbye
Watch us Gerrymander
Bleach your district lily white
Carve it to the right.
How we mop the map.
How we mop the map.

A Rorschach to the eye.
Like stealing though much grander.
Gets those democrats all psyched.
Rope-out the votes disliked.
How we mop the map.
How we mop the map.

Un-fair yet no one stops.
Our re-district mops.
Lock-in our selection.

You gave it a good try
For a fair election.
But fairness is a loser’s prop.
Stand and clap, it’s a wrap,
How we mop the map.
How we mop the map.

Lyric © 2018 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved