NORTH OF THE BORDER

NORTH OF THE BORDER
(To the tune of, “South of the Border,” by Jimmy Kennedy & Michael Carr and featured in Frank Sinatra’s 1958 Concept Album “Come Fly With Me.”)

North of the border from old Mexico.
Down where the Rio Grande lays out its hand
in gentle flow.
The Donald is building a wall soon to grow.
North of the border from old Mexico.

He’s spending a billion to seal-off the land
But he could spend a trillion and still not even understand
These people keep coming, where else can they go?
But North of the border from old Mexico.

In their eyes you can see desperation.
There is violence and chaos about.
And when people have reached desperation.
No silly wall will keep them out.

North of the border we’re really naïve.
Thinking a wall defends when in the end walls deceive.
In shutting them out, we’re shut-in you know.
North of the border from old Mexico.

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

OBAMACARE

OBAMACARE
(To the tune of, “Our Love is Here to Stay,” by George Gershwin & Ira Gershwin.)

Obamacare.
Thankfully here to stay.
Another year
Under the ACA

Republicans and the President
Promising to repeal and replace.
Suffered embarrassment.
All of them losing face.

Obamacare.
Mandates the right abhors.
But to be fair.
Millions that law insures.

Donald may grimace and grumble.
Not being humble.
But, “Health-care for all,” we say.
Obamacare
Hooray!

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

WHAT’S SO GOOD ABOUT THE NEWS?

WHAT’S SO GOOD ABOUT THE NEWS?
(To the tune of “What’s so Good About Goodbye?” by Smokey Robinson as recorded by The Miracles)

What’s so good about the news?
All it does is give me the blues.
Read how Trump can get elected
and how Putin is suspected.
Tell me, what’s so good about it?*
I could have done without it.*
What’s so good about the news?

In the Wall Street Journal today.
Read they’ll take my health plan away.
Though I’m healthy, I’m not wealthy.
And I can’t afford miscues.
Tell me, what’s so great about it?
I’d be OK without it.
What’s so great about the news?

Be like Trump and never read.
What a sheltered life I would lead.
Thinking ignorance is blissful
But that man is just abysmal
Tell you what’s so good about it?
We’d all be dumb without it
That’s what’s good about the news.

Lyric © by Robert S. Steinberg except starred (*) lines verbatim from original song.
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

WELCOME TO ABSURDUM

WELCOME TO ABSURDUM
(To original melody)

Welcome to Absurdum
A place they used to call America.
And if you’re coming to the USA
Best pack a bullet-proof vest.
All the crazies live here.
Loaded guns everywhere.
So you’d better steer clear.
God bless America.

Welcome to Absurdum
Now look who’s vying to be president.
An egomaniac with a coif.
A lady who wants to wear the pants.
Soon the crazies will vote.
“Open-carry” promote.
Privacy’s in the moat.
Liberty’s a game of chance.

Welcome to Absurdum
A place they used to call America.
Honest Abe’s restless grave.
Sees us fooled all the time.
Oligarchs plot and rule.
Lobbyists selling mule.
Try to live on a dime.
God bless America.

© 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
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