D trump stepped right up to the mic
Like a c & w star,
Pushed back his Stetson, smiled at folks
And, strumming his guitar,
Began to sing a song of truth,
about the coming war.
“Good people, as the bloody scene
Which decked the streets of Bowling Green
Is fading from your memory, now’s
The time that you remember how
Another ghastly deed was done
Within the land of midnight sun.
It was last Friday—in the night
Illegal immigrants in flight
From Massachusetts hopped a bus
To Sweden where their King, Karl Gus
Had polished off a final moose
And let his elkhounds wander loose
So warning never came—although
The zillion footprints in the snow
Would be a signal clear to all
That Sweden should have built a wall
Instead of saying welcome to
That tidal wave of migrants who
Roared into Stockholm, their intent
To ruinate the parliament
With millions of illegal votes
Before they set off cutting throats
Of all Swedes—hick, as well as urban–
Whoever didn’t wear a turban.
Three million immigrants appeared
Or was it five? The number veered
Because the Swedish media lies
Just like our liberal media guys
Who always say that more is less
But even they would soon confess
That when the buses came, the crowd
Was bigger than the press allowed
And yet more came—an infestation
Much larger than the population
Until, when all was said and done,
The odds against were two to one.
Too late! The politicians cried.
As myriads of Norsemen died
And when the bloody work was done,
They looked around and found—no one!
Each Muslim brought a couscous pot
With which to cook and eat the lot.
“It makes a change,” said refugees
“From those generic MREs.
And we don’t mind boiled Swedes a bit
When polished off with akvavit
(although we wouldn’t take the risk
Of mixing them with lutefisk!)
So now, where pines and snow are thick,
The only tongue is Arabic
And all because those foolish Swedes
Succumbed to others’ desperate needs.
In contrast, now, we’ll close our border,
Establishing new law and order
To keep us safe from what exists
Out in the world: those terrorists
Who wear full burka or hijab
To hide machine guns and who lob
Grenades from rooftops while their pops
Run countless corner stores and shops.
Be warned: there are no inbetweeners—
Kick out the chadors and the beaners,
Those folks who think us infidels
In places where there aren’t hotels
With ‘trump’ on giant signs on top.
They want our blood and will not stop
Until they kill us in our beds.
Turn out the tanks! Send in the Feds!
Bar all the doors—turn out the light!
Or soon you, too, will join the plight
Of millions slaughtered, as was seen
in Sweden and at Bowling Green.”