Fort Lee or not-Fort-Lee traffic congestion?
Sent out, an order that’s timed to make suffer
And bring to narrow the lanes for misfortune,
Thus causing car driver heaps of trouble.
But it was not the endgame. Sans-sky cloud keeps
A trove—so in shit deep were the chief’s friends,
Because emails revealed what some weasels had wrought.
But will they spare Hugh Long’s reincarnation,
He who hails from North, not the South deep?
His sheep off to slaughter, not out to be rubbed
But on unsheathed symbolic swords to slump.
It cannot be sloughed off, what starts to roil.
And each angle the press dissects.
They will lose, some hacks, political life;
Some may garner more than scorn and do time.
These wretches were wrong. The man who looms hugely
Has avoided the law—at least for today.
The insolence of office makes us turn
Bilious, initially, then stomach quakes
Until we retch at unrepentant snakes.
With a bear body, the gov may lie bare-
faced. In his state corruption is rife,
And runs the Garden’s gamut length and breadth.
So did the gov. his myrmidons suborn,
Or did they act upon their own free will?
What’s known thus far—still likely less than half.
Schvitzing the Fifth is one dick of the gov.
No conscience hath he, though on sword he fall
As one of the ilk seeking retribution
For a snub of tubby gov., or so ’twas thought.
Such wickedness their sick shtik did foment.
In retrospect, these Jersey jerks will cry,
But will the man face action? If so, how?
If snared—oh big deal, yeah! Big as the gorger plump.
Recall the Tricky prez res[ignation].