[(Intro – Distorted bagpipes over a feedback drone. Rain and wind samples. A lone, guttural spoken word over slow, crushing power chords.)]
"They said he was a builder… a dealmaker… a king…"
[(Riff kicks in – slow, sludgy, like walking through mud)]
"But kings… they sit on thrones…"
[(Verse 1 – Thick Glaswegian snarl, rhythmic and punishing)]
THE PORCELAIN THRONE, IT COULDN'T HOLD!
THE GOLDEN FLUSH, IT RUNS SO COLD!
A POLITICAL STAIN ON A BURGUNDY SUIT—
THE TORIES WEEP, THE BAGPIPES TOOT!
[(Pre-Chorus – Building tempo, double bass creeping in)]
THE KILT'S NO USE FOR A MAN SO WEAK!
THE TARTAN WRINKLES, THE FABRIC SHREIK!
FROM THE IVORY TOWER TO THE PUBLIC LOO—
THERE'S ONLY ONE THING LEFT TO DO!
[(Chorus – Massive, chant-able, 6/8 Celtic groove)]
LET THE STINK RISE HIGH!
LET THE STAIN RUN LOW!
DOON HIS LEG THE MUCK WILL FLOW!
ALL THE LASSIES SHOUT HELLO—
DONALD'S SHIT HIS TROUSERS!
[(Gang vocals repeat the last line, spiraling into a folk whistle melody)]
[(Verse 2 – Faster, almost punk rage)]
HE SHOUTED "WITCH HUNT!" AT THE WIND AND RAIN!
BUT THE BROWN TRUTH SLITHERS DOWN THE DRAIN!
MAR-A-LAGO'S GOT A NEW BROWN RUG—
THE SECRET SERVICE JUST SAYS "Nae luck!"
[(Breakdown – Brutal, half-speed, palm-muted chugs)]
[Spoken/snarled:]
"WANNABE DOLEMITE…
WANNABE BIG MAN…
BUT THE BOWELS, BOYO—
THEY NEVER LIE, CAN!"
[(Squealing pinch harmonic, like a squeaky floorboard)]
[(Chorus – Faster, almost folk-punk rebellion)]
LET THE STINK RISE HIGH!
LET THE STAIN RUN LOW!
DOON HIS LEG THE MUCK WILL FLOW!
ALL THE LASSIES SHOUT HELLO—
DONALD'S SHIT HIS TROUSERS!
[(Bridge – Clean acoustic guitar, haunting Scottish lullaby melody – sung mournfully)]
"Ohhhhhhh the tweed once shimmered…
The hairspray gleamed…
But the porridge in his breeks—
…isnae what it seemed…"
[(Distortion explodes back in)]
[(Solo – Fiddle over fuzz, played like a chainsaw, with dive-bombs that sound like a toilet flushing)]
[(Outro – Slowing, almost funeral march, with drunken crowd chanting)]
"Stink… rise… high…"
[(CHUG)]
"Stain… run… low…"
[(CHUG)]
"DOON HIS LEG—"
[(Final, earth-shattering power chord)]
[(Silence. Then a single, distant flush sound effect.)]
[Spoken, fading:]
"Aye… that's the presidency then, innit?"
AsheTheHyena
