They’ve chosen Crapface for the president.
Well, what of that? It’s hardly precedent
That fools and punks, with blind, unthinking cheer,
Have handed Crapface votes from year to year.
Soon he’ll be moving into some White Mansion—
Or Kremlin, say, whichever fits the bill—
And men of reason, struck with apprehension,
Will groan, foreseeing endless years of ill:
He’ll plague the West with crises never-ending,
His homeland send into abyss descending,
And split the earth in two— ‘til what remains
Are pure-of-thought against the crap-for-brains.
But truly, friends, the future isn’t dire.
He’d plot our doom from craters filled with fire,
Yet still, the world won’t shatter at his hand—
He’ll leave us bruised but standing in the end.
And time will shake off ignorance and error,
And soon his name will vanish from the map.
We’ll banish Crapface to the past forever,
Along with all his cronies and their crap.
20 ÿíâàðÿ 2025 ã.
Îðèãèíàë: http://stihi.ru/2024/11/10/777