Mitch likes Chinese, but he likes black.
Soul food can give a heart attack,
And since he doesn’t want to die
He takes his soul food on the sly.
The one is tasty, and the other
Spicy and strong enough to smother,
So Chinese makes his daily fare,
The other, when he’s time to spare.
The church in God above rejoices
And southern gentlemen have choices,
Though in some matters not so great
As when slaves waited at the gate.
To make the country great again
For some of the people, and some men
Is all to which rich Mitch aspires
But wealthy men don’t preach to choirs.
He shuffles though his daily rote
But spicy times the press don’t note;
Till then, it’s stir-fry, but the grease
From deep-fry’s always sure to please.
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