A man with rotten soul and lips, A racist, lunatic, Toxic grip. "Black jobs?" he says, with clueless glee, What does that mean? His mind's a foggy sea. Dimwitted as a faded orange dusk, Black jobs are beyond his grasp, Just dust. It's evident, This coward’s heart is torn, Afraid of Madam President, Forlorn. Thinks he reigns in an empire so grand, Did he just fall from a coconut’s hand? The ignorance, the callous disregard, He is inconsiderate bastard! I can’t hold my anger, It’s burning bright, This toxic wound needs fixing, It’s past the night. Infectious rot in the GOP’s core, This poison must go, Or We’ll fall to the floor.
Source: Can’t Hold My Anger – Grounds For Hope

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