a poem from Ale 81 Inn field correspondent, Ford Wenty
She don’t look like Pocahontas
Her ego blots out the Sun
She well and truly wants us
to believe that she’s the one
The crazy one, Larry David’s foil
running out of things to promise
Raise the cry, no blood for oil
I guess we’ll all be eating hummus
Then there’s skater-boy (don’t get me started)
that emasculated male
Took the stage and only farted
Watch his polling numbers sail
And Kamala, well she’s Kamala
Get it done without a hitch
She’ll deliver Shangri-La
She’s Willie’s little bitch
But they’ll all feel the wrath of CONG
the guy with blood in his eye
They say he just does not belong
that Creepy Old Neighbor Guy
Yes old dogs can learn new tricks
Theres a new slogan to be seen
The failing campaign has found a fix
Brother, can you spare some green?