Dance, Donald, Dance.

(In the land of utter corruption, mendacity, inhumanity, and human rights atrocities, where they repress women, criminalize being gay, kill their own family, and dismember member of the press, Trump will feel like he’s found the perfect home to live out his days in splendor.)

Dance, Donald, Dance;

48 hours ’til your Writ of Habea…

The time is NOW — to flee

To Saudi Arabia.

Sunny Miami, suddenly grey;

Time to run to where

They taught you, & Jared,

To sway for pay.

Why subject yourself to US law?

Endless prison awaits, nothing more.

MBS is your Savior;

Money drives his, and your, behavior.

Who else would pay

For our Nuclear Plans?

Or the very best maps

For invading Iran?

You’ve sold the Saudis yachts and condos,

And danced with their ossified;

Why not a few pieces of paper

Marked highly classified?

Throw in Trump Tower,

Bedminster & Scotland;

Who cares if Riyadh

Has so much fucking hot sand?

You’ll live like a Sultan,

With toilet seats of gold.

The press gets Kashoggied,

You crimes will grow cold.

So dance, Donald, dance,

To the Sword of the Saudis,

Where money and secrets

Wipe out what’s naughty.

Madoff’s cell will miss you,

Your MAGA-otts be smilin’;

Knowing that you sold them out,

For a lifetime of asylum.

Put aside your narcissism,

Your delusions, too;

You’ve screwed yourself so thoroughly,

Your life-long scam is through.

So, dance, Donald, dance

48 hours ’til your done,

Time for one last desperate leap,

Into the scorching Saudi sun.