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 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

DONALD WON’T BE LEAVIN’ SOON FOR DC

It appears that Donald Trump’s big mouth and impromptu, unconsidered remarks have finally taken a toll on his popular appeal. Many are starting to understand that loud crudity and flippant answers to serious questions are often indicative of empty-headedness.

DONALD WON’T BE LEAVIN’ SOON FOR DC
(To tune of “There’s a Boat that’s Leaving Soon for New York,” by George Gershwin, Ira Gershwin and Dubose Heyward, from the 1935 American Fold Opera, “Porgy and Bess”)

Donald won’t be leavin’ soon for DC.
Shot his mouth
and all the polls turned south, Sister.

They’ve been try’n to knock his train right off its tracks.
Foes and hacks.
Desperate last attacks, Mister.

If it’s left to the convention.
There will be a big what for.
And though it will be witless.
Brother we may witness
the meanest war you ever saw.

Though the GOP machine is in full gear.
Vote for Cruz?
Win and you still lose, Mister.

All the Wall Street cats were worried.
Donald didn’t need their cash.
So their henchmen started dumping
on him, and now they’re thumping
the one we called the King of Trash.

Donald won’t be leavin’ soon for DC.
Not this knave.
Or Lincoln leaves his grave, Sister.

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

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
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CHARADE

The November vote ended our suffering through the latest round of cynical congressional elections.  Now, the bandwagons are rolling on the 2016 presidential campaign.  Will we be duped again?

CHARADE
(To the tune of, “Charade,” by Henry Mancini and Johnny Mercer from the movie of the same name).

When they play their charade.
Nothing is as appearing.
They play a part,
dishonest art,
show actors on a stage

It’s all a masquerade.
Paper thin masks they’re wearing.
Not one word said
from their own head
only what’s on the page.

Then when the vote comes in.
The masks grow unrefined.
As IOUs begin
to be repaid in kind.

Then we know we’ve been played.
Bitter and angry, swearing
not to forget.
But we forget
each time they play charade.
But we forget
not to forget,
each time they play charade.

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