Now Its My Boxes - In Trumps Own Words

Can you believe it, indicted again, By a bunch of pure zealots, callous grey men, Political hacks given the task, To take down the Don and in the limelight then bask. Find any cause, invent a good ruse, Just make it stick, all tricks good to use. But boxes of stuff, how low can they get, Papers with socks stacked in the shower, some wet, All safely collected in my place at the beach, Easy to find, easy to reach. Just mere mementos of my time as the Boss, Not something I’d part with or wantonly toss. Now they accuse me under some act, With great media fanfare like milk to a cat, Gloating, backslapping each other in turn, Pouring on fuel, hoping I burn. Little sick people don't they recall They tried this before and I embarrassed them all. To be top of news is clearly my ace, Providing the fame and my favorite space, For me to then weave my own brand of spin And just like last time, that got me straight in. But if this turn they're sure I've been finally licked, They won't even feel how hard they've been kicked.