When Clinton trips upon her lips
The lies come flying fast.
Then sick, she slips, and backward flips;
Her future in her past.

Of wisdom’s wealth she has no gold,
Her words are toothed in two,
And each false half’s a hee-haw laugh,
Or cough of no-trust flu.

A socialist she plans to be,
With millions in the bank;
She loves the game—hypocrisy,
And never speaks for blank.

Benghazi was her brightest spot—
Or lowest, I’d avow;
Men called for help, but she forgot
And, “What’s it matter now?”

Of Hillary, mean Hillary,
There’s not much more to tell.
The queen of Party Slavery
Would lead us all to Hell.

Yet some dumb men will vote for her,
And some dumb women, too.
The fact of her base character,
And theirs, they will pursue.

Oh, lovers of your living years,
The only ones you’ve got,
Don’t throw away your joys for tears
In a “doesn’t matter’ pot.

When Clinton trips upon her lips
The lies o’er flow her cup.
Then sick, she slips, and backward flips;
Her future past is up.