Numbers lift?
Get a grip!
All you schmoes
make folks doze.
Get your mind right and you’ll find:
you ain’t goin’ nowhere.
Bobby, you won’t fly
Tomorrow, today,
number less than 1.
Lindsey, you made a nice try—
down are you, too, ’round there.

Folks don’t care
for you all as president.
As with Rick/Scott, it’s time you went.
Run short of money,
yet you won’t relent.
You ain’t goin’ nowhere.
Rick, please, wave “bye-bye.”
Nothing that you say’s
getting any traction
Christie, number’s far from high—
weight’s high, but polls: down there.

Guy’s an old coot,
frizzy hair ain’t cute
Fail late, his fate; then moot.
Pack yourself
back to Green ’ State buttes—
You ain’t goin’ nowhere.
Cruz, T., say “bye-bye”;
you’re goin’ away
before it’s all done.
George P. made a feckless try.
Rand, Huck, minuscule share.

Kasich cannot
upward creep
Martin, Webb, Chafee asleep.
Can’t climb that hill;
won’t even make veep
It’s time to face it.
Crew, please, wave “bye-bye.”
It’s sorrow you face;
your time just ain’t come.
De-lu-sion-al is your try
because you have no prayer.