*Apologies to Mr. Sondheim
Ain’t it a bitch?
Why should I care?
Wife Number Three had it right
A true icy stare
Those fucking clowns
Isn’t this great?
Feeling that groove
I smell like a barn
What’s left to prove?
Goddamn those clowns
Those fucking clowns
Just when I’d stopped shopping at stores
Finally knowing that God is the one who adores
Pitching my products again to the gathering mob
They’re shopping online
Nobody cares
Don’t you love Trump?
(Our fault, it’s clear
We thought he’d play for awhile
then disappear)
But those fucking clowns
Those goddamn clowns
Hey! Look who’s here!
Man, I am rich!
Give me a cheer!
Being the boss once again—what a career!
But wait—am I seeing clowns?
Nothing but clowns
Can’t wait for next year
Yes, it’s a bitch
Yes, it’s a bear
Me here again with the crown
fixing my hair
Can’t wait for the clowns
Give me a kiss
Nothing to lose
One who can not tell the truth
One who can’t die
Great—there are the clowns
My nightmare, the clowns
Just when I stopped shitting my pants
Finally knowing I get off on all of your rants
Strutting my entrance again, so debonair
Where is Roy Cohn?
He ought to be here
Don’t you love farts?
My art, it’s clear
I thought that you’d eat it up
From my derrière
The makeup, the frowns
But those fucking clowns
There’s got to be clowns
Just tune in next year
***
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