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

 

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