All The Presidents Mien

The American election
Upon circumspection
Needs to be sorted out
To be gored or bushwhacked
By the chads we're attacked
"I'm the president," each one would shout.

So they argued and they fought
Over numbers and of noughts
To get an answer was to do
But never would they find
If they were left behind
To accept the result as true

As the worlds greatest power
Grows richer by the hour
With knowledge a veritable fount
But for the rest of the world
Abuse they have hurled
Cause the yanks don't know how to count.

Copyright; T Wilson
Email: tom@scoosh.com