He liked to ride bare-assed on a stallion,
Which he left unbridled and unsaddled.
(Some said his mind was idled and addled.)
He thought he commanded a battalion
Of shiny battleships and rugged tanks,
Would tolerate no genius in the ranks.
He commanded the firing of blanks
To force the surrender of cash-stuffed banks.
Clutching golden mane he charged the fray,
Screaming “Follow me, suckers!” at his troops,
Spanking with his crop his poor mount’s sore croup,
Reducing that proud steed’s neighs to a bray.
The exhausted beast reared, bit the golf shirt
Off our hero and tossed him in his dirt.
No comments:
Post a Comment