Two-Minute Warning

Two minutes, and I’ll know what’s happ’nin’ with Putin;
if he is bullshittin’ instead of straight shootin’.
“That’s what I do, folks – I make deals,” I opined –
then proceeded to weave as if out of my mind.

D.C.’s full of crime, bloodshed, squalor, and worse.
You drive in for a visit, go home in a hearse.
There are FBI agents I’ll have reassigned
to combat all this bedlam – despite its decline.

I am taking a cut off the top of some chip sales,
refitting a jet prior to when my ship sails,
said “Russia” when I meant our 49th state,
cheat at golf, pardon felons, conceal my true weight.

Now, why am I taking these unheard-of actions?
Because of the Epstein Files; yet more distractions.
I’m building a ballroom, destroyed the Rose Garden,
and, once Vance takes over, will hope for a pardon.