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The Blue Route


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June 24, 2017


Uncle Jeff

When I was just a little kid Uncle Jeff talked to me About the things people said As opposed to what I could see. He cautioned me to listen And watch people carefully He promised me an education, Just made for little me. Do they walk their talk When no one is around? Do they

Don’t Call Trump

Don’t call Trump a chimpanzee. Chimpanzees can’t talk. Don’t call him a pile of poop. A pile of poop can’t walk. Don’t call Trump an Orange That would be indiscreet. You see, different from an orange Trump is in no way sweet. Don’t call Trump a swindler Take his fat ass to court Because when

They Kill Children For Money

Horrible, soul-less dissemblers Who kill children for money Who starve children to put More money into their banks With secret accounts off-shore And want to make more and more. Too much money to even score Because the books are cooked To let them kill more children For money because they think it’s funny To starve

The Rich Always Survive

One quarter Dumplets One quarter aware One quarter lazy fools One quarter don’t care A huge percentage of voters Pay little attention to facts. We know that because we see They ignore the way Trump acts. They have a list of lies they say To excuse their lack of civic pride. That includes that jerk

Daddy’s Wish

My daddy wants Republicans Standing in a line Then ship them all to Moscow That would be just fine. Then after all is said and done There shouldn’t be any fuss Since that is exactly what They want to do to us. They can try graft and corruption In any foreign war zone; Dead, like

Fool School

This nation is in Fool School Taking all the classes Taught by a clique of nearly Brainless evil asses. Making up the facts, they do Exactly what they’re told. They’re replacing our integrity With lies they are sold. Do you believe in equal rights And children who are fed? The monsters in charge all say


You didn’t learn from Reagan You didn’t learn from Dubya And you will not learn from Trump And his minions and what have you. Instead, like a drunken junky You search for some magic pill That we can take and instantly Cure all our country’s various ills. You let in a multiple bankrupter Then call

My Country

My country does not believe in equality. It buys excuses for elitism and misogyny. It covers up its greed and its brutality And makes up ugly labels for decency. My country sings its songs about freedom But often denies it to those who need some. It celebrates our heritage with beer and rum And marches

Silence of the Slammed

He left home for a very good reason But no one ever asked him why. Nobody questioned the bruises Nobody ever even tried. The neighbors ignored the noises Of a child screaming in agony. The urban equivalent of caring Is universally applied apathy. Shut up kid, the adults are talking; You’re to be seen and


The Cult Of Disappointment

This is written and directly and squarely aimed at the fools that kept saying to me “both parties are alike” and “Trump vs. Clinton is picking the lesser of two evils.” This batch of air heads are the Cult Of Disappointment. They are so determined that nothing will do any good, we are all lost and

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