When the free-press corps will get in your way,
you elect to repress it à la Zimbabwe.
When of free press you are far from a fan,
you try to shut it down à la Goebbels’ grand plan.

The press must atone, because it ain’t respected
the troll and the gnome dubiously elected…
freedom rejected.

First move: express that you suffer dismay,
and then on you will press till it’s taken away.
Attack the press, move minions bless.

When the free press begins bringing you down,
your thoughts start to regress to an old German town.
A repressed press is what’s fit for a king.
Get the corps to be banned, doing an Orwell thing.

The press, what you fear; it ain’t fair that they're pickin’
on you—that’s so clear.
So they had best be fixin’ to get a lickin’!

Squeeze a free press: a tactic that’s worked well
but was finessed the best in the post-Weimar hell
(and was finessed the best when dunkel* replaced hell**).
Cheering a press that can bring things to light
with a thunderous sound, is a free country’s right.

Ain’t bidin’ your time; your motives are not hidden;
you pine for a time when free press was forbidden…
repression’s slid in.

Jeer at the press in your infantile tweets,
thin-skinned orange*** pussy who can’t take heat.


*dark
**bright
***one of whose two components is yellow