There were these three great guys;
They would've won any drinking prize.
I oughta know, I mean, they were great winners
At any slots or blackjacks. But they were sinners
As I remember them: great guys, the greatest
But I had to have them guarded and they weren't the latest
To need it, believe me. Casinos!
I could tell you some stories, Campesinos!
The lives that I brought low!
Their money went to me, and they got the blow:
Lost marriages, bankruptcies, debt!
And all this flowed to me: Trump, Game, Set!
So while the retirees are being bused back home broke
Reflect on what a greedy, seedy bloke
Would own and prosper in the great greed joke!
Here today, gone tomorrow, is the existential hoax.
I oughta know; I've been both down and up!
What matters is where you end before you sup.
Did you profit? Did you lose momentum?
Gain on earth is the only quantum,
Even Indians had their wampum! Listen,
No one cares if you cheated in school or if you're wizen
And still chasing women. What matters
Is did you win? That virtue shatters
All your little ones. Who lives on the hill beyond your means?
The best Christian? The rich guy who demeans
Women, ladies and gentlemen!
So you can predict what I will mention
As the fault of our threesome young men,
That they were losers in the end.
Couldn't keep it up! Couldn't win!
So here is how it went one night.
They were having free drinks and getting in a fight.
Says one of them: I'm going to be President!
The other two aren't hesitant
And make a lot of fun of him.
Let's just get past your little whim
And ask the fortune teller what she thinks.
They're late for her but meet instead two shrinks.
The shrinks are attending a conference
In my lofty tower built for gamblers anonymance!
One is a Russian, the other's a spy.
That's why everyone knows this isn't a lie.
So the two shrinks tell the three losers how they can tell
If one of them will ever become President, of hell.
Because that's what it is, you know,
Hell, because Washington has such a smell.
Not a business; a beggars' opera!
So the shrinks, having studied this aria,
Tell our heroes to go forth into night where they will find a tree.
This tree will show them under the lee
Among the bayberry brambles in a moonless night
Which of them will become President Fright.
That's right. Off they go quite drunk.
On the way they stumble into a skunk.
Already dead, roadkill, how it stunk!
Tougher and with vile oaths
They grumbled onward, triple foes.
Finally one of them bumps into it.
The tree, an oak, gives him a brandy fit.
The other two trip over him anon.
They settle there in stupor with a gun.
Where did this gun come from, says one?
The other two pay no attention.
They their eyes are feasting on a hoard
Of Golden Rubles, with IOU scored
Across each one of their bright faces.
Meanwhile, they sense they're sitting in feces.
Which one is going to be President?
The one with the gun suggests it is evident.
All they have to do is play Russian Roulette.
And so they begin their experiment in fate.
Two losers are worth it, if the third
Comes out smelling like roses.
And here let me tell you why I know zis.
I was sniffing for the source of all this crap,
And saw the three drunks trap
Themselves into a drunken bind,
Fumbling around for light of a kind
On their dumb phones, saying what
The shrinks said and how sad that,
And how wasted they were, and God
Wasn't for them, nor they for God!
At last the two were dead of their own luck,
But drunk as he was the third one went amok.
He wasn't counting, or maybe he counted too much.
His turn he still had to take, and so and such.
At last the three of them were over and out.
Measuring their debting, cursing, drinking bout
From the safety of death, whom no one can convict,
Innocent of everything they ever did commit.
And now I sit among them and the offal smell
And hearing of this miserable loser tell
He would be President, and that and then
The money came to him, through other men.
So what, they weren't from Atlantic City;
I'd save us some money and build up American pity
For how rotten everything was, and how they should curse
Against one another to make everything worse.
Until I seem great, like a lucky lotto machine
That they hazard a guess will make everything new and clean!
Ha! Good luck on that! My brand is bonded,
On the country's own Treasury sounded.
Co-fever I got them all spinning
Roulettes in their heads, grinning
Until Kingdom Comes and I have to unload
The terrible terrible bombs the scriptures foretold.
But hey, they want to Impeach,
But I'm no peach, no Georgia peach.
They don't know who owns me, or whom I owe.
I owe, you owe, he, she, it owe
A whole lotta rubles, my dear.
Loser? Or winner? Not clear?
Let's pretend it's a wonderful thing
And ask no more questions or think.
Success is all mine, and you drink,
From my tits, unless you truth blink
And it all comes down to nought;
Perish that; perish that thought!