King Grift the Great, with a gold-foil crown,
Parades through towns in his made-for-TV gown.
He kisses the babies (but pockets their sweets),
Spins tales of the swamp to billionaires’ beats.
His pockets are bottomless, stuffed full of dreams –
The dreams he sells followers bursting at seams.
He howls on the hilltops, “I care for you all!”
Then dines with the lords in their marbled hall.
He shouts for the workers, then laughs at their pain,
Gives boons to the fat cats aboard his gold train.
If honesty’s virtues were biscuit or bun,
He’d snatch every crumb, then declare he ate none.
With flag in one hand and the strings in the other,
He juggles the truth, trades one lie for another.
A fox in the henhouse, a thief in the vault,
Proclaims every failure is never his fault.
He’s “just like the people,” he brays and he bellows,
While eating gold omelets with cartelled fellows.
His temper’s a tantrum, his honor for hire –
A circus ringmaster who sets crowds on fire.
Children, remember this verse as you grow:
Not all kings are noble, nor roses bestow.
Some rulers who prattle of workingman’s pain
Don fox fur and diamonds and dance in the rain.