James Comey James Comey, Mr. six-foot-and-eight
I’ve shortened your tenure—that proves I am great.
Three times you told me “I am not under investigation.”
Let’s make that official, we’ll sign legislation.
You should have been nicer to Hillary, October was rough.
Go easy on her and the Russians, enough is enough.
We offered alternative facts from alternative folks
if the press could only keep up, they’d know it’s no hoax
My merry-go-round of apologists—my jugglers four
always some new way to explain, who knows what’s in store?
I’ve called you a “grandstander” and “showboat”—now you’re banned from the tent.
No more you, no more Ringling, cue the spotlight—I’m the last main event.
Now Robert Mueller is aboard, and I’m beginning to dread
what the heck will unravel when they tug the thread that is red?
I’m off to tour the world—who knows what I’ll find
but nothing will match my joy of things left behind.
Let’s meet again when I’m back, I’ll share photos of my inaugural crowd.
Bring your memos and notes, we’ll listen to my tapes—I’ll turn them up loud.