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MR. PROMISED-ME-THE-MOON


Intro 1:
He told me he was rich,
He acted cool and smart
Then came that night on which  
He proved a mean old fart.             
He took me out to dine,                        
His takes on life would hook me;    
He took me out for wine,*                   
    (*whining” voice:)                              
And then he really TOOK me.
 
Verse 1:
He’s gung-ho at making vows
Doesn’t know, though, what he should.   
He’s so quick on taking bows,  
But a quack—on making good.  
He’ll declare
He’s fair then swear
Like some mad loon;
Still, some fall for,
Even crawl for
Mr. Promised-Me-the-Moon.
 
He’s a gift to womankind,         
So he says to other guys.    
He’s a master—in his mind      
A disaster otherwise.             
Makes his cronies 
Top baloneys
Through false claims.
(Tip-off it’s Trump:)
Yuge!
 
Growin’ profits,
Showin’ off, it’s
Mr. Promise-And-Play-Games.
 
Fiddles round like Nero;
Stalks like a gorilla;
He says he’s a hero—
I say he’s GOD-zilla.    
(Aside)
With l’il hands.
Once he may have made me melt,
Doing with me as he’d please,
Still the moon-glow that I felt
Was, in essence, made of cheese.
What was there 
Was all hot air—             
A gas balloon, 
Got the blues from…
Turned to booze from
Mr. Promised-Me-the-Moon.
(Spoken asides:) 
Some say he has unholy alliances.  But that’s not an idea open for  “diss Putin.”
(Beat)
How many minutes does it take him to screw in a light bulb? None. He’s too busy screwin' up 
the country.
(Beat)
May his allies all get their comeup-PENCE.
(Song continues:)
He can slyly cagey be* [* K.G.B.],   
(Aside:) 
Such Bolshoi!
Freakin’ when I wear a shawl.    
Yet like Humpty Dumpty he     
Could come tumblin’ from his wall.
Causing mayhem                                  
At 3 A.-M. * [* “3 AY-hem”]—          
Tweets then roars—
Lib’ling, shrieking— 
All while leaking— 
Mr. Promise-You’ll-Get-Yours.         
 
Some expect a heyday                     
With the hopes he’s spreadin’,      
Bettin’ on a payday,                          
Gettin’ Armageddon.                        
 
Doubles woes he said he’d shrink. 
Troubles those he said he’d aid.      
All he touches turns to stink             
Making pits from lemonade…          
Comes a homey                   
Honey-Comey        
Payback soon!  
(Aside:) 
Bad hombre!
 
No more Sessions
Or Depressions.
 
Thinks he’s jefe* (*”heh-fay”)— 
He’s “cofevfe”* (*”Co-fe-fay”)             
                                                                                                                    
Any liar’d
Be inspired
        (Addressing the subject:)
Till “You’re Fired!”—
Mr. Promised-Me-the-Moon.   
 
SAD!!!

 


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