WARNING!!: Rough and foul language ahead
His daddy ran a gem mine
With slaves who gave blood
So they could drink wine
He bought his fame
Using Daddy’s slave money
To bolster his name.
Now he thinks he’s tall
Standing on a mountain so frail
It has to fall.
But he don’t care,
Waves his d!ck at us poors
And says
“How’s the air down there?”
“I always had mine,” he gloats
“Thanks to the Negros from Daddy’s time!”
Truly despicable,
He courts freaks and fashies
Their hatred is so flashy,
Splattered all over Twitter like bird crap in a cage.
Yet to his cult of rejects,
He is ALL the rage!
Can someone please shut this charlatan,
This tyrant,
This BRAT
Up for good?!
This poem stands tall,
In the shadow of the Flim-Flam kid,
The finest of fakes,
The Khan of Twitlers everywhere.
GFY, Elon!!
Studio CreatiV: The Writings and poetry of Dustin Plank 