(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


(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


(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


(To the tune of, “That’s Why the Lady is a Tramp,” by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart)

Promising jobs that machines will usurp.
Thinks we’re Dodge City and he’s Wyatt Earp.
Doesn’t know Cairo from Prague or Antwerp.
That why the Country’s is deep-shit

Disavows reading, says he knows it all.
Waits by the hot-line for Putin to call.
Bridges are crumbling, he’s building a wall.
That’s why the Country’s in deep-shit.

Rash threats he’s aimed at mad Kim Jong Un.
That psychotic son.
Who spooks
With nukes.

The planet’s warming, with Trump coal’s a hit.
That’s why the Country’s in deep shit.

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


Blame is a tactic President Trump often has used to deflect criticism. When criticized, he blames someone for something real, made-up or imagined. The death of Navy Seal William Ryan Owens in a failed military raid in Yemen is the fault of overzealous generals. The media and congress are investigating Russian communications made by members of his campaign, some of whom lied about those communications. Trump awakens Saturday morning tweeting they should also investigate President Obama’s wiretap of his Trump Tower phones. He states no source or evidence to support the charge but insists fairness demands an investigation. FBI director James Comey flatly says No! He asks the Department of Justice to repudiate the charge. Of course No! I The Russian matter heated-up when Trump’s National Security Advisor Michael Flynn and Attorney General Jeff Sessions were caught lying about their Russian contacts. Those lies are perhaps probable cause for criminal investigations not merely congressional inquiries. On the wiretap matter, we have only the President’s word. Was the source of the President’s charge a Breitbart story; or, did Trump dream it the night before? The dream possibility made me think of Johnny Mercer’s lovely song “Dream” on which this post is based.

(To the tune of, “Dream,” by Johnny Mercer (1944))

Blame, though you’ve not one clue.
Claim they’re surveilling you.
Listen to Limbaugh, read Breitbart for news
End-up with views.
That make others woozy.

Blame, showing who you are.
Blame, shifting fault afar.
Bound by no honor.
Feeling no shame.
You blame, blame, blame.

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


(to the tune of “Too Marvelous for Words,” by Richard A. Whiting & Johnny Mercer (1937))

It’s no coincidence.
We’re not deaf, dumb and blind.
It’s spurious, we’re curious.
Why Sessions was perjurious?

It’s not believable.
And puts Trump in a bind.
Explaining it, disclaiming it.
His shoes keep stepping into it.

It’s obvious
To hear the Russians kvelling.
Joke’s all on us.
Where this leads there’s no telling.

Before an ending here.
You’ll want the real low-down.
Of course it’s no coincidence
The Russians love this clown.

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


(To the tune of “Almost Like Being in Love,” by Frederick Lowe & Alan Jay Lerner (1947))

Trump has crowned himself King
Groucho’s one-liners zing
Well this feels like a Marx Brothers show.

With our rights being shorn
Harpo’s honking his horn.
Yes, this feels like a Marx Brothers show.

What dark humor we found in Duck Soup.
Trump and Bannon reprise that old Troupe.

And with this vaudeville clown
Came the circus to town.
Now it feels like the Marx Brothers
Reels like the Marx Brothers
Feels like a Marx Brothers show

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


Watching Sunday’s Meet the Press, I was amused by Vice President Pence’s slick effort at trying to explain President Trump’s latest faux pas. Do you wonder what Pence is really thinking?

(To the tune of “The Great Pretender,” by Buck Ram as recorded by Tony Williams
and The Platters (1955))

Oh yes, I’m the great explainer
Explaining for President Trump
When he’s uncouth.
And offends the truth.
With a straight-face I rescue the chump.

Oh yes, I’m the great explainer.
When our president’s making no sense.
Then I alibi.
Sidestep and deny.
Trump relies on his friend Mr. Pence.

His mouth is as wide as his ego and pride.
His head thick as lead, does a brain dwell inside?

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh yes, I’m the great explainer
Defending what can’t be explained.
His outrageous flair.
Leads to my blank stare.
By the end of the day I feel drained.
And fearing my future is stained.

His mouth is as wide as his ego and pride.
His head thick as lead, does a brain dwell inside?

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh yes, I’m the great explainer.
I humor that billionaire snob.
For within my reach.
Should the gang impeach.
Lies my path to the world’s greatest job.
And you thought I’m a sycophant gob?
Well, no minion am I to that slob.

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


(To original melody)

Dreamers see the world through rose-colored glasses.
Trumpists carve-up truth to hoodwink the masses
“Alternative facts aren’t facts.”*
Yet are spoken, and no one retracts.

Will Trump be a president of glowing revivals?
Or White House resident of angry reprisals?
Who childishly reacts?
Promoting alternative facts.

There’s truth and there is fiction
All falsehoods breed friction
One can’t alter the truth
However clever the diction.

A scary man who is driven by ego.
We’ve put at the helm. God help us, as we go.
With President Trump, who can relax?
Cause when our GDP contracts.
I fear he’ll claim it’s still growing.
Declare he’s all knowing.
Defending his smug little world.
Of alternative facts.

*Chuck Todd, NBC’s Meet the Press moderator, responding to Trump senior advisor Kellyanne Conway’s statement about the White House Press Secretary’s mischaracterization of the inauguration crowd’s size (Meet the Press, January 23, 2017)

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