She can justify all kinds of jive,
Lame of brain, with a winking eye.
Times ain’t changing—she’s proving that;
Mind still feeble as ketch captain in a windless tack.

Eats meat she spied through a gun sight,
Fishin’ for hake on a salmon delight.
She’s a bitch abetting the Faux-shill news,
But her cries—can’t believe ’em: lipsticked pots of poo.

Yeah, the bitch, yeah, the bitch. . .
Oh! The bitch is back:
Nome-cold ogre whose gray matter does lack.
What a bitch, what a bitch.
She’s invested in whom?
Joe plumbers, whose numbers leave much “big tent” room.

Bereft left brain, this wench, insane,
Selfish troll who’s droppin’ game.
She’s got nice clothes, bought by fat cats—
A many ten thou’s habit for this bitch who’s wack.

She’s a bitch, she’s a bitch,
Oh! The bitch is wack,
Nome-cold guvnor whose tenure went off track.
Lipstick quit, chickenshit,
She’s indebted to whom?
Joe plumbers whose numbers might make book sales boom.