Lucy Vickery

Hey, Mr Tangerine Man

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In Competition No. 2984 you were invited to follow in the footsteps of Green Day and Moby and provide Donald Trump’s detractors with a protest song.

Where’s Woody Guthrie when you need him, you might ask. Well, as it turns out, the Dust Bowl Troubadour was well acquainted with the Trump family. Literary scholar Will Kaufman has discovered lyrics written by Guthrie excoriating his then landlord (‘Old Man Trump’) Fred Trump’s racist bigotry.

Billy Bragg has set the bar pretty high with his excellent reworking of that other folk icon Bob Dylan’s ‘The Times They Are a-Changin’ ’ but Alan Millard’s Dylan-esque entry was well done too and earns him the bonus fiver. The rest take £30.

Come gather around, I’ve a sad tale to tell

Of a bigot and bully, the bigwig from Hell

With hair like a beaver’s tail plastered in gel

But he’s only a flash in the pan, man, only a flash in the pan.

He’s macho misogynist, coarse to the core,

A groper and grabber of pussies galore

Who claims it’s all locker room talk, nothing more,

But he’s only a flash in the pan, man, only a flash in the pan.

You Mexicans, Muslims and immigrants all,

He believes he can bar you by building a wall

And it won’t be like Jericho’s, destined to fall,

But he’s only a flash in the pan, man, only a flash in the pan.

He’s Putin’s prize puppet, a bolshie buffoon

With the farcical face of a comic cartoon

Who thinks he’s a guru yet acts like a goon,

But he’s only a flash in the pan, man, only a flash in the pan.

Alan Millard

We’ve seen your tower in NY

About as subtle as tsetse fly

And the lassies shout as you grope each thigh

Donald You’re A Loser [Chorus:]

When your words smell high, when your words sink low

Through the ranks of yes-men you will go

From the malls to the walls of Mexico

Donald You’re A Loser

With your waterboards and your slaughter eyes

And your private bankrupt enterprise

And the stretchy tissue of your lies

Donald You’re A Loser [Chorus:]

With your phoney facts and your tactless tweets

And your vacuum-packaged team of cheats

Each lad and lassie here repeats

Donald You’re A Loser [Chorus:].

Bill Greenwell

O Captain! My Captain! Mark well what you have done,

Convinced the people (and yourself) that you are It, The One.

There’s more to running government than ’Putin’ on the Ritz

And First Ladies should be diplomats behind the teeth’n’tits.

But all’s up, the die is cast,

The Lord of Misrule rules;

Down Pennsylvania Avenue

Now steams the Ship of Fools.

O Donald! Our Donald! You self-regarding chump —

We should have voted Homer Simpson, even Forrest Gump.

Whatever were we thinking, we must have lost the plot:

You claim to be a patriot? Walt Whitman you are not;

Rather, an orange-hair-job clown,

A pimped-up masquerade;

You’ve Trumped the world by trumpery,

The price will now be paid.

Mike Morrison

Pipelines. Pruitt. Hiring freeze. Keeping out the refugees.

Crowd size. Hand size. New press secretary’s lies.

Twitter tantrums. Funky hair. Bye bye, Mr Polar Bear.

Claims ignoring evidence. Conflicts with emoluments.

A-list folks who said No Way. Silencing the EPA.

Every ‘over-rated’ foe. Taxes that he’ll never show.

Jared Kushner. Twitter feuds. Rich, white nominated dudes.

Russian hacks that he’ll forgive. Facts that are alternative.

We didn’t vote for Donald.

No, we didn’t choose him; we see Putin use him.

We didn’t vote for Donald.

Even Clinton’s better, but we didn’t get her.

Staffers clap to fool the press. Muslim visa airport mess.

Torture’s now OK with us. State department exodus.

Briefings that he just ignores. Did I mention Twitter wars?

Merrick Garland, go get lost. Build the wall and damn the cost.

Max Gutmann (to the tune of ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire’)

Hello Donald, our old friend,

You’re tweeting in the dark again,

Drafting diktats without thinking

Trashing taboos without blinking,

All rooted in your trademark semi-sleaze

So Donald please

We want the sound of silence

In restless tweets you walk alone

Making fake news of your own,

Giving everything a lethal twist

To be lapped up by your populists

Who adore your verbal shooting sprees

We’re on our knees

Give us the sound of silence

Paul Carpenter

No 2987: the art of loving

You are invited to supply a lesson in the art of seduction in the style of the author of your choice (up to 16 lines or 150 words). Email entries to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 22 February.