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To the editor:
(With apologies to Rudyard Kipling)
You may talk o’ gin and beer
When you’re quartered safe out ’ere,
But we were sent to fight the traitors at the gates
And when it comes to facing slaughter
We will do our work as ordered
An’ we’ll lick the bloomin’ boots of them that helps us.
But we fought no foreign enemy
Who rioted for supremacy
We faced an evil cult called Donald Trump.
It was Trump, Trump, Trump,
That limpin’, lying lump of malice, Donald Trump
You ’eathen, where the mischief ’ave you been?
You been plannin’ your next riot
Now with guns you’re gonna try it
But you’ll be hiding where it’s quiet
Such a coward lets his lackeys lose their lives.
You feeble, shameful miscreant, Donald Trump
Though we’ve ripped you and mocked you
By the livin’ Gawd that made you,
You’re even worse than we imagined, Mr. Trump.
Michael J. Gorman
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