I dreamed about Trent's porch last night, where we passed gas and time.
Trent serves the very best Kool-aid, it tastes like cheap red wine.
Just like cheap red wine.
Hurricane Katrina trashed his house, blew it to hell and gone.
And I got nice photo ops right on his front lawn.
Right on his muddy lawn.
I asked him, "Trent, can you re-build? It takes a lot of cash.
I know that you've stolen tons but you can't reveal that stash.
You just can't tap that cash.
Trent smiled and said, "Hey, Georgie, boy, it won't cost me a dime.
We tore up lots of safety nets but we saved yours and mine.
We saved yours and mine.
Fed’ral Flood Insurance covers me, and everything I own.
When waters rise, God lifts me up though the poor sink like stones.
I'll watch them from my throne.
So bring the builders with their crews of illegal migrant scum.
They'll work real cheap and take our crap or go back where they’re from.
Thank God they are so dumb.
I dreamed about Trent's porch last night, and thought, "It just ain't fair".
That hurricane blew down his town, but left his goldanged hair.
His silvery plastic hair.