(Somewhere in a golden hotel room,
Donald Trump’s starting to realize
The presidential race has turned its back on him.
It’s three a.m.)
It’s three a.m., and the press has gone
I’m sittin’ here Tweetin’, the rage still warm
Maybe Steve Bannon is tired of takin’ chances
Yeah there’s a vote to be lost, electors in my head
I’m worried of failure, all scandals ahead
I cannot let go, my whole stream spins into a frenzy
Help I’m steppin’ into the Tweeter Feed
The Net is a madhouse, feels like being freed
My filter’s removed under moon and star
What am I to post, now that I’ve gone too far?
Soon I will come to know,
When the voters hit the booth
I’m falling down with pollsters, final margin unknown
A double-digit gap means no return
I won’t win no election, Michael Pence, where are you?
Well, the jabs weigh heavy on my guilty mind
Just like that Miss Universe
And when the Electors come I know damn well I’ll be defeated
Help I’m steppin’ into the Tweeter Feed
The Net is a madhouse, feels like being freed
My filter’s removed under moon and star
What am I to post, now that I’ve gone too far?
Soon I will come to know,
When the voters hit the booth