Ol’Party Fouls

מילים

Before he ever took the throne, Li’l Rocket Man sparked his dome. “It won’t happen”—first decree, Before the oath was ever known. Li’l missiles broke the silence, the tantrum king’s butt got sore— “Turn that carrier around. Cancel Australia. Head for shore.” Show of force with the blue light special armada, Put the whole world on alert— cuz? Well? Ya gotta Only trouble was the warships need a spotta Had operations sailing south first. Damn it all to hell like an otter Silver Spoons be pullin up Ol’Party fouls spillin cups Drowsy fart’n BicMac daddy cucks Floatin photo op for the street cred then dip out the cut Lettuce on my tie, I gives a fuck Y’all could die—I’ll drape the flag, Nod at moms and wink at dad, Pinch her butt, dip out the cut— Y’all know what time it is: I gives a fuck o’clock. Gold-plated presidential shots Make bodies drop like it’s hot when it’s not. Ukraine rang—the favor lingered, Perfect call with perfect fingers, First impeachment, Senate acquittal— Everything’s legal when the jury’s political. New year dropped with Soleimani, Drone-strike fireworks, no confetti, January third—the date was marked, Six years later, Caracas in the dark. Then the plague came through the airport, Markets crashed and cities locked, “Fifteen cases, soon be zero”— Watch the bodies call the shots. “Come to Washington—be wild,” Patriot cosplay, freedom styled, January sixth, the windows shattered, Blue-line sermons quickly scattered. Back the badge until it blocks Your red-hat tour chanting “fuck the cops.” Raise the gallows, storm the palace, Treason drenched in freedom’s malice. Silver Spoons be pullin up Ol’Party fouls spillin cups Drowsy fart’n BicMac daddy cucks Floatin photo op for the street cred then dip out the cut Lettuce on my tie, I gives a fuck Second impeachment, second acquittal, Another shrug from Capitol Hill: “When the king commands the mob, Who among us knows his will?” Boxes stacked at Mar-a-Lago, Bathroom secrets, ballroom cargo, Nuclear whispers by the chandelier— But Hillary’s emails brought us here. Thirty-seven federal charges, Thirty-four-count guilty verdict, No jail cell and no probation— Justice posed for the occasion. Pennsylvania cracked like thunder, Blood ran down and agents covered, Fist went up beneath the flag— One photograph rewrote the numbers. Shot at once, reborn by evening, Merch by midnight, crowds believing: God reached down and spared the king— Apparently missed everything between. Back he came through ballot boxes, Felony crown and golden crosses, Swore the oath with billionaires Buying front-row seats and offices. January sixth got absolution: Beat a cop beneath a flag? Pardons became revolution— Welcome home, you’re so rad. Cancel allies, flatter strongmen, Rename waters, threaten Greenland, Canada can be the fifty-first— Trust the genius on the grandstand. January third came calling, Caracas woke to missiles falling, Maduro snatched beside his wife— Democracy delivered overnight Dragged him north beneath the rotors, Trump declared we’d run the country: “Safe transition, oil protection”— Freedom smells a lot like money Six years since he smoked Soleimani, Same date printed on the body: January third—the empire’s clock Still ticks in gold around somebody Then the Epstein files came pouring, Millions deep and somehow boring: Pages blacked from edge to edge— Transparency dressed up for mourning Protect the victims—that is righteous. Protect the powerful? Don’t indict us. Three million pages, names and rumors, Truth submerged beneath the viewers Silver Spoons be pullin up Ol’Party fouls spillin cups Drowsy fart’n BicMac daddy cucks Floatin photo op for the street cred then dip out the cut Lettuce on my tie, I gives a fuck February twenty-eighth came blazing, U.S.–Israeli bombs were raining, “Greatest chance to take your country,” Spoken from a bunker safely, Six months later, war kept breathing, Hormuz choking, tankers freezing, No clear victory, no surrender— Bill marked “Return to Sender.” Gas went climbing, diesel followed, Campaign promises came in hollow: “Drill, baby, drill”—the pumps replied, “Four-ten, baby—swipe or drive.” Groceries, lights and gas more costly, Not hyperinflation technically— Three-point-four across the nation, Poorer scientifically He crossed the line, high-five to Kim, After swearing he’d bury him, Yesterday’s “Rocket Man,” Tomorrow’s best friend—twins That’s the art of every empire: Light the match, then sell the fire, Break the clock, announce the time, Build the crisis, claim it’s fine I gives a fuck—that’s what he said, With a straight face painted red, I gives a fuck if you’re dead— Dip the cut and golf instead, while Misses Harp get that cardio in & give me head Silver Spoons be pullin up Ol’Party fouls spillin cups Drowsy fart’n BicMac daddy cucks Floatin photo op for the street cred then dip out the cut Lettuce on my tie, I gives a fuck Yo Li’l rocket manz I’m a presidential cuck I pass the buck