I told you, you would miss me
The minute I was gone
Tough to swallow, hard to see
The extent of Joe's real con.

First he promised, some believed
His sole aim a power grab,
Many listened quite relieved
For his special brand of drab.

Can't you see the mess he's made
All he touches turns to dust,
Yet it's us his failures paid
As our country turns to rust.

Still he blusters unperturbed,
One bad choice after another,
And if by now you're not disturbed,
You can join him in the gutter.

But despite all this foul gloom
Months of nothing every day,
Wait for me to see us bloom
I'm the man for which to pray.

Three more years you may well wait
With sad Joe calling the shots,
But this country's very fate
To make good before it rots.