[ fast Tempo ]
Trump's Art Hits the Fan: Dogs Playing Poker
Around the table, the dogs convene,
Trump deals the cards, his face serene.
But Zelensky protests, "I'm not here to play;
I'm serious, Mr. President—this isn't a game today."
<delivery>Emphatic</delivery>
Trump smirks and growls, "You've got no cards,"
As Putin observes with a deck full of shards.
The stakes are high, the chips piled tall,
But Trump's bluff is weak, his hand too small.
[delivery>Clear enunciation ]
[tempo>Even faster</tempo]
Putin raises, his gaze cold and sly,
Calling Trump's bluff with a calculated try.
The table shakes as Trump folds in haste,
Shitting on the felt in a moment disgraced.
[tempo>Fast</tempo>
<style>Extra humorous</style ]
Like pissing in the wind, his policies unfold,
Shit flying everywhere, yet he calls it gold.
Iran's nuclear clock ticks faster each day,
Sanctions failed; the deal blown away.
<style>Humorous</style>
The UK bristles at tariffs imposed,
Steelworkers suffer; their markets closed.
"America First" leaves allies behind,
A trade war sparked with no peace in mind.
Canada warns: "Don't cross that line,
The U.S. is hostile, no longer benign."
Neighbors turned strangers, trust torn apart,
His deals are no art; they're a conman's chart.
Each deal he builds is a house of cards,
Promises grand but outcomes are shards.
One gust of truth and the structure falls,
Leaving behind only fractured walls.
[Clear enunciation ]
NATO allies once stood side by side,
But Trump's disdain left trust denied.
"Pay your dues," he barked with glee,
As collective defense swayed precariously.
North Korea became a photo-op stage,
Kim played along, but no deals were made.
"Fire and fury" turned into a grin,
Yet missiles still fly—another win for Kim.
[ style>Sarcastic</style>] [ pick up speed ]
Like a painter blind, he splatters shit wide,
Calling it genius, let the cards ride .
"The art of the deal," his mantra once bright,
Now reeks of chaos; Trump shits on what's right.
[<style>Humorous</style>
<tempo> quick </tempo>
<delivery>Emphatic</delivery>]
And so we watch as his empire tilts,
A legacy built on sand and guilt.
The house of cards teeters; it cannot stand—
A fragile façade in a crumbling land.
Like you can't win at poker with pockets full of filth,
No one wants art that stinks and is just smeared with guilt.
Trump's final hand is revealed, a mess to behold,
His art of the deal, a tale of failure to be told.
DrummerDave26
