THE WORST IS YET TO COME

THE WORST IS YET TO COME
(To the tune of The Best is Yet to Come, by Shannon Greene and Todd N. Terry)

Out of the candidates, we’ve selected the rump.
The words stick in my throat saying President Trump
And now I fear, right here, the worst is yet to come

The worst is yet to come, that’s becoming quite clear
I’m so afraid the harm will be more than I fear

Issuing orders every day.
Brewing un-needed fights.
Closing our borders come what may.
Stepping on precious rights.

The worst is yet to come, cloaked the devil arrives
The worst is yet to come, pray the country survives.

Pray this land survives
He’s certain to go too far.
We used to care about lives.
Let’s not forget who we are.

The worst is yet to come, meaner than it now seems.
The worst is yet to come, out to steal your dreams.

Lyric © 2017 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esq.
All rights reserved

TRUMP WILL BE PRESIDENT

TRUMP WILL BE PRESIDENT
(To the tune of “Little Girl Blue,” by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart)

Intro

When his campaign began
I thought it was all in fun.
Another game to stoke his name
To my chagrin he’s won
And nothing feels quite the same
Dems sit and wonder who’s to blame.
Worry reigns over DC
Worry raindrops fall on me

Verses

I sit here and feel the raindrops
Storm clouds have sent
Feeling all spent.
Why am I feeling like the raindrops?
Trump will be president.

I sit here and mourn the future
Under this gent
Who’ll not repent
Why do I worry o’er the future?
Trump will be president.

Bridge

What can we do?
What can this man do to us?
Have you read Sinclair Lewis?
Threats He wrote of should clue us.
Not to trust, this con man
We’ll soon call
President Trump.

Reprise Bridge

Why feel so glum?
Although this is a bummer
He’s winter’s cold harsh Drummer
In four-year’s-time may come a
Summer, wise man
To dethrone
President Trump.

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

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!

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