Whose rubes these are I think I know
Because of what the Fox poll shows;
They’ve come to see me stopping here
In their strip mall Domino’s.
My little intern must think it queer
That I’m eating crappy pizza here.
With frost-bitten jackasses who rarely vote.
As the New Hampshire primary nears.
He calls the limo driver over
To ask if he knows our next stopover -
As if these hicks might take the hint,
And leave us be so we can motor.
But America is full of clowns like these
And I’ll need every one of them in the primaries;
I have promises to make that I won’t remember
And things to say that no one believes.
This mall is ugly, dank, and grim.
I never thought that I might win.
Now I have eight years of this before I’m free.
Eight years of this before I’m free.
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