Vie fools din, spew blather breath, the spielin’ mouths: halfassed dread.
Aiy! complete time waste, not by campaign was bred.
Ten misfits gonna tell us more of what’s already said:
they’ll bullshit and schnook-grandstand—more manure spread.

Great big load of blather, great big load to see,
great big load of crap speak: blah-blah-blah-blah.
Debate, this load? Not really

I sicked up, post-gag, and went lookin’ for a place to hide,
but I kept barfin’; the spectacle was hard to abide:
they all were carpin’, putting each other down.
That was four years ago; should be worse this time around.

Great big load of bullshit, great big load to see,
great big load of horseshit: blah-blah-blah-blah.
Ingrates, this load? Yes, really.

Go-round, smoke blowin’; they’ll have nothing to say—
same old rebukes, rebukes they’ve prated day after day.
I’d puke and retch, and a masochist I’d be
were I to turn this bray-fest on and then waste precious time on the Trumpery.

Great big load of ranting, grating toads to see,
great big load of canting: blah-blah-blah-blah.
A spate o’ toads? Certainly!

Hatred festers rapidly. . .cadre of card-carry Trogs:
plague worse than locusts, boils, and a pestilence of frogs.
Each of the play-debate jesters has nothing like a plan;
they just serve to annoy. . .make me want to scan CSPAN.

Great big load of feinting, lot o’ toads to see,
great big load of tainting: blah-blah-blah-blah.
A spate o’ loads? Certainly!

Callow cavil squall, loud they’ll squawk and perhaps whine;
band of unthinking schmoes is a blemish on prime time.
I’d get off of my fanny and go get my old shotgun
whose slugs would shear the screen; out the plasma would run.

Spate of grotesque horseshit, sprayed out endlessly.
spate of grotesque bullshit: blah-blah-blah-blah
They’ll dump their loads on TV.