IT WAS GRAND TO BE RUNNING

IT WAS GRAND TO BE RUNNING
(To tune of “It’s a Grand Night for Singing,” by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, from film “State Fair.”)

It was grand to be running
Campaigning’s one more show
In your White House chair
while they blow-dry your hair
reality may bite your toe.

It was grand to be running.
When promised walls rang true.
Now you’ve been elected
and you’ll be expected
to prove what you really can do.
That wall may fall on you.

Maybe you’ll learn to be calm.
Maybe you’ll learn to go slow.
You might come to see
that the Presidency
is not a reality show.

Maybe you’ll think more than talk.
Maybe you’ll grow to be wise.
Maybe the earth will crash into the sun
and burn up before your own eyes.

It was grand to be running.
Cheer Mr. Pres. your chum.
You don’t see your error
why others feel terror
as “things fall apart”, for some.
“The blood dimmed tide” has come

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

DON’T WANT TO VOTE

DON’T WANT TO VOTE
(To tune of “This Can’t be Love,” by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart)

Don’t want to vote.
The candidates all suck
Vote Trump? Vote Clinton? Vote ne’er!

Don’t want to vote.
Would prefer Donald Duck.
To this madam or billionaire.

Oh make these two shut up
Cause when they speak.
My knees grow weak, from
Mal de mer.

Don’t want to vote.
A liar or a schmuck?
I’ll toss a coin in the air.

But it’s my right to vote.
No right to flout.
I’d be called out, so
I will vote.

Don’t want to vote.
But I’ll be at the polls.
To cast my vote in despair.

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

THAT’S WHY NOVEMBER GIVES ME CRAMPS

THAT’S WHY NOVEMBER GIVES ME CRAMPS
(To the tune of “That’s Why the Lady is a Tramp,” by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart).

Trump is immodest, he’s all he’s about.
Wall Street on Clinton has far too much clout.
Punching your ballot, you’ll vote with a pout.
That’s why November gives me cramps.

At least Obama was honest and smart.
He made mistakes but made them with his heart.
These two turn hypocrisy into art.
That’s why November gives me cramps

Oh God please send, John Kennedy back
He had a knack, with words.
What turds!

Loathe both the Donkey and Elephant camps.
That’s why November gives me cramps.

Reprise

Trump is bombastic, he bellows and rants
Often he blunders, but never recants
Clinton’s a lady, but she wears the pants.
That’s why November gives me cramps.

Trump’s kid Ivanka is lovely to see
Chelsea’s a mother, as sweet as can be.
I’d be less vexed by their candidacy.
That’s why November gives me cramps

The one we vote for, we should admire.
One who’d inspire.
Be proud.
Not loud.

Loathe both the Donkey and Elephant camps.
That’s why November gives me cramps.

 

Lyric © 2016 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esq.
All rights reserved

 

THAT’S WHY I NEEDED PENCE

THAT’S WHY I NEEDED PENCE
(To the tune of “Teenager in Love,” by Doc Pomus and Mort Shuman as recorded by Dion and the Belmonts in 1959).

Pence is conservative too
Sure glad he’s by my side.
Though he will have to live through
My ego-Trumping tide.
I’ve mush for brains and I lack common sense.
I’m just a Putz, that’s why I needed Pence.

Pence is against abortion.
But not against the gun.
Explaining with contortions
Why he’s the lucky one.
I’ve mush for brains, and I lack common sense.
I’m just a Putz, that’s why I needed Pence.

I’m disconnected
An SOB.
Pence is accepted
By the GOP.

And so he’s been selected
To serve as my VP
And should I get elected
Then he can serve me tea.
I’ve mush for brains, and I lack common sense.
I’m just a Putz, that’s why I needed Pence.

Reprise
Pence is from Indiana.
The Midwest, not the South.
I slip on a banana
With each word from my mouth.
The GOP is hesitant and tense
Cause I’m a Putz, that’s why I needed Pence.

Lyric Copyright 2016 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

WE WILL OCCUPY – 2016

 In the fall of 2011 protestors occupied Zuccotti Park near Wall Street in New York’s financial district. The movement called Occupy Wall Street remained there for about 9 weeks protesting social and economic inequality. Now Bernie Sanders is campaigning to occupy the While House under the same mantra. He may be tilting at windmills given the Democratic Party’s arcane delegate garnering process under which insider super-delegates outweigh voter preferences, but the Occupy Wall Street anthem below still expresses his just cause.

WE WILL OCCUPY – 2016
(To tune of “Two for the Road,” by Henry Mancini and Johnny Mercer, from the film (1967) of the same name, starring Audrey Hepburn and Albert Finney.)

If you’re tired of all you see.
Come occupy Wall Street with me.
We’ll challenge corporate-ocracy.
Protest its warped milieu.

In New York, and Chicago, and L.A.
Wherever they promote the creed –
Worshipping greed
And seeking wealth, beyond all need

It isn’t that we’re anarchists.
And no, we aren’t communists
But that the one percent persists.
Wanting the whole darn pie.

As long as money gets the nod.
And profit is the end-of-all God.
Then, we will occupy.

Refrain

And so inside if anger burns
Get out and vote and watch the returns.
And we will occupy.

Lyric © 2011, 2016 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire All rights reserved

NOT THE TRUMP

The Republican establishment has suddenly awakened to the likelihood of Donald Trump becoming its nominee for president. That realization has unleashed a desperate campaign to stop his ascent to the party’s nomination.

NOT THE TRUMP
(To the tune of “You’re the Top,” by Cole Porter)

Not the Trump.
Anyone but Donald.
Not the Trump.
How we yearn for Ronald.
No conservative, he’d give us a black eye.
He’s the King of Con.  He’s the Twitter-Don.
He’s a dangerous guy.

Not the Trump.
Got a tiny weenie.
Not the Trump.
Thinks he’s Mussolini.
Cruz gives us the blues, and Rubio’s a punk.
So, the GOP roars in misery,
“To the bars – Get drunk.”

Not the Trump.
Who will stop the Trumpster?
Not the Trump.
Drop him in the dumpster.
This is suicide, a coattail ride we’d skip.
Desperation’s come when Mitt Romney’s
even sounding hip.

POTUS Trump.
Breathes an air of panic.
Not the Trump.
He’d be our Titanic.
He will take us down, this circus clown, this chump.
Groucho Marks’ more presidential.
Not the Trump.

Lyric © 2016 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved.

Note: This is a parody song lyric based on comments of others and/or innuendo in comments of others. Thus, the views expressed are not necessarily those of the author.  The author does not intend this parody lyric to be taken seriously or mistaken for truth.  The contents of this blog are intended as humor and satire of a political process.  This lyric is not intended as a personal attack on anyone and is not published for the purpose of disparaging anyone’s reputation.

NOTHING HERE’S SMELLING LIKE ROSES

NOTHING HERE’S SMELLING LIKE ROSES
(To the tune of, Everything’s Coming up Roses,” by Julie Styne and Stephen Sondheim, from 1959 Broadway Show “Gypsy”)

Dash for cash, bash and trash.
Dough from Lobbyists piles up a stash.
Shift the blame, play the game.
People, nothing here’s smelling like roses

Take your turn, burn the Bern.
Give one tilting at windmills a turn.
Clinton’s scowls, sag her jowls.
People nothing here’s smelling like roses.

Whose Foundation’s
cozy with Saudis and such?
Wall Street dollars
for speeches, and nobody hollers?

Bernie’s right, too much might
for the big wigs and deals in the night.
Anecdote? Cast your vote.
People, nothing here’s smelling like roses.

Turn to Trump? He’s a chump.
But this GOP gaggle he’ll thump.
Rubio? What a show.
Want to Cruz?  Hit the booze.
A ballot with them on it makes me cuss.
And people, nothing here’s smelling like roses to any of us.

Lyric © 2016 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

HE’S THE TRUMP 3

HE’S THE TRUMP 3
(To the tune of “You’re the Top,” by Cole Porter)

He’s the Trump.
He’s the bald-faced liar.
He’s the Trump.
Friendly as barbed-wire.

Says that blacks kill whites.
Loves those verbal fights, and more –
Claims that Mexico’s sending rapists, oh,
He’s the biggest bore.

He’s the Trump.
Always been outlandish.
He’s the Trump.
Shameless name to brandish.

He’s a demagogue, a spotlight hog, a rump.
In his mind that’s Presidential.
He’s the Trump.

Lyric © 2016 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
Continue reading

HE’S THE TRUMP 2

The first GOP presidential debate led me to believe we needed some more verses of “He’s the Trump,” (original posted June 27, 2015).

HE’S THE TRUMP 2
(To the tune of “You’re the Top,” by Cole Porter)

He’s the Trump
To the nuts will pander.
He’s the trump.
Thinks that “rude” is candor.
He’s the little brat, having tantrums that
all the neighbors dread.
He’s Napoleon, a relentless Hun,
He’s the biggest head.

He’s the Trump.
On the bully pulpit.
Serving rump.
And the media gulp it.
If he’s campaign should end in the garbage dump.
He’ll proclaim he’s still the winner
He’s the Trump.

He’s the Trump.
Implies Meagan’s menstrual.
In no slump.
Calls his reign eventual.
He’s the charging herd, of verbal turd a clump.
But he’s always true to Donald.
He’s the Trump.

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

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