“America is not my job,”
Said Mitch McConnell loudly,
“I’m here to cheat, and steal, and rob,
And even do it proudly.
“What do I care for ‘ethics’ or
For ‘legacy’—such fine
And highfalutin words. My core
Is serving me and mine.
“ ‘Honor’? There’s none among us thieves.
Winning is all that counts.
‘Power is love.’ No one believes
A hill of beans amounts.
“You’ve got to have a steady flow,
Or smuggled on a ship,
Or casual greenbacks, don’t ya know,
As into pockets slip.
“Three branches of civility
And separated powers?
What does this nonsense mean to me?
I get mine after hours.
“Should the republic stand or fall
(The high court has been shredded)
It makes no difference, not at all:
I neither urge, nor dread it.
“In either case, I’ll get my prize
By hook or nasty crook,
For what I do, is capitalize,
And never by the book.
“Rulebooks were made for fools like you,
Your ethics, honor, morals:
While you discuss, let me subdue,
And put an end to quarrels.”
These were the words that Mitchell said,
And he got his, though thieving;
His was the bombast, ours the dread,
And Liberty’s the grieving.