Not like the gilded towers of tacky Russian fame
With tiny conquering fingers astride from Fifth Avenue to Mar-a-Lago
Here at our leveraged, gold-plated gates shall stand
A mighty fine woman, with a tiara, who is a ten, and whose bikini looks really good on TV, and her name, Misty or Crystal or something.
From her jewel-encrusted hand
Glows worldwide exclusion; her icy blue eyes command the air-pollution that Exxon caused with impunity.
"Keep, Muslim countries your refugees!" cries she with perfect blow-job lips.
"Give me your oil, your tax shelters, your arms deals. Your oodles of real estate money waiting to be made. The cheapest labor that can possibly be bought, send these, whatever will make me as rich as possible as quickly as possible, to me!
I lift my finger above the button "Tweet!"