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

KICKING THE CAN ON DOWN THE ROAD

Congress is again trying to postpone addressing tough budgetary issues but passing another short-term government funding bill.  Nothing new here.

KICKING THE CAN ON DOWN THE ROAD
(To tune of “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head,” by Burt Bacharach and Hal David, Oscar winning song from 1969 Best Picture movie, “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” starring Robert Redford and Paul Newman)

Kicking the can on down the road
When responsibility becomes a heavy load
Congress won’t decide
They just kick that old can again a little bit further

Because, to make a decision takes a stand
And taking a stand in an election’s year is banned
Campaign suicide
So, they just kick that old can again a little bit further

But they must surely know
They’re putting on a show there
And we know here
A country kicking cans is heading nowhere

Because, kicking the can on down the road
Is just like the hopping of a narrow-minded toad
Feeling satisfied
But toads never make it to the end of a long road
Your feet are free
Kick them out of DC

Lyric © 2011, 2014, 2015, 2018 by Robert S. Steinberg
All rights reserved

MERRY CHRISTMAS

PLEASE MISTER SANTA
(To original melody)

Please Mister Santa
Don’t send me any toys.
Got no one here to watch me play
Like lucky girls and boys.

When you’re an orphan
Your mom and dad are gone.
They’ve told me they’re in heaven now.
But still they’re all I want.

And so I had to write this letter.
Send what would make this hurt inside feel better.

Someone to love me.
And take me as their own.
Please don’t forget me Santa.
I’m so small and all alone.

Please Mister Santa
I need a Merry Christmas
Before I’m fully grown.

 

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

HAPPY THANSGIVING

IF I AM THANKFUL
(Original poem)

If I am thankful for my home,
I will shelter the homeless.
If I am thankful for this meal,
I will feed the hungry.

If I am thankful my children are safe,
I will protect all children.
If I am thankful for being loved,
I will bestow loving kindness on all.

If I am thankful for my portion,
I will give generously to the needy.
If I am thankful for my talents,
I will keep mindful my failings.

If I am thankful for my freedom,
I will respect the rights of others.
If I am thankful for this life,
I will revere the miracle it represents.

If I do not,
I am not truly thankful,
Only selfish.

© 2010 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

OUR U.S.A.

(To tune of “New York, New York,” by John Kander and Fred Ebb)

Been hitting the booze
Since Trump took the helm
I fear he’ll make a wreck of it
Our U.S.A.

Proclaiming fake news
His threats overwhelm
He’s certain to make dreck of it
Our U.S.A.

A Constitution
To his thinking is just passé’
Believes insanely he’s King.
And all must obey.

Examine the clues
He’s out of his realm
He campaigned for the heck of it
A spoiled kid at play

Now lacking self-control
He might nuke the world to coal
Then Goodbye Trump
and U.S.A.
Our U.S.A.

Lyric © 2017 by Robert S. Steinberg
All rights reserved

BAND ON THE RUN

BAND ON THE RUN
(To the tune of Band on the Run by Paul McCartney and Wings)

Ryan and McConnell,
Playing on their fiddles
Donald’s on the trumpet
Drummer’s Rand
What a band, mama,
What a band!

How’d we ever come down to here?
From admired to the garbage dump.
We sure hit a wrong note somewhere
The band leader was Donald Trump
How’d we ever come down to here?
All we needed was Donald Trump.

Well, the news resounded with a heavy thud
Heard what old Judge Moore had done?
Paul Ryan says to McConnell, hey bud
Are you still having fun?

We’re that band on the run.
We’re that band on the run.
Now the GOP’s Majority
Is poised to be undone
Love that band on the run,
Band on the run
Band on the run,
Band on the run.

Well, Trump was wailing up a health-care bop
But he brutalized the run
And Rand is drumming up another stop.
Tax Reform won’t see the sun
Love that band on the run,
Band on the run
A Trump White House, all cat and mouse
Mueller’s chasing not for fun.

They’re a band on the run
Band on the run

 

Lyric (except for title) © by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

MY DEAR MISTER TRUMP

MY DEAR MISTER TRUMP
(To the tune of “I’ve Got a Crush on You,” by George & Ira Gershwin)

Too bad the misled voters
For Trump still are his doters
They prize, his beady eyes.

They fawn over his squealing
Don’t realize he’s stealing
Their dreams, with all his schemes.

I’m no fancier of his gigantic id.
Thought he’d never get elected, but he did
You know I see right through him
And simply must say to him
My dear old Mister Trump

I’ve got some news for you Mister Trump
People you abuse know, “You’re a chump”.
Who’s never had one emotion
That isn’t fueled by vain self-devotion.

Who can’t see what’s obvious.
Why this silly tweeting, blunderbuss?
The world is no garbage dump
For all your brainless thoughts
My dear Mister Trump.

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

TAX CUTS

TAX CUTS
(To the tune of :”Blue Skies,” by Irving Berlin)

Tax Cuts
Bestowed in a huff.
Ladle out tax cuts.
Trump wouldn’t bluff

Tax games
A Bill no one reads.
Praise the new Tax Law.
Nobody needs.

Voting for a change made in a rush
Congressmen hide. Senators blush
Embarrassing to learn nobody’s knows.
What’s in the bill, they’ve just proposed.

Tax gifts.
Corporate relief.
Another big wealth shift
More Middle Class grief.

Lobbyists are poised, ready to swarm
Capitol Hill. They’ll stir up a storm.
Benefits galore throughout the Code
And no one gives up their Motherlode

Tax cuts
Steal like a thief.
Helping You- Know-Who
Our Commander in Chief.

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