Plank for theocracy
Is what you might still find, come convention time.
The Panderer who’s Mormon may be the schmuck first in line,
But the runner-up’s

Plank for theocracy
May have to have some room ’cause the man did zoom
In delegates. . .can’t relegate him to get a full broom
Sweep, though runner-up.

Stayed in the race though defeated.
He did not need to be de-fatted
Like Newt, who by then will have scatted. . .
Quixotic run, done from day 1.

That plank for theocracy
Might mean that we’re in store for the days of yore,
Because the man’s a head case who lives for 1604.
He’d blank you so much.

Plank for theocracy
Could make things go to worse—e.g., if you cursed,
You’d have to seek a preacher and confess—your soul to nurse. . .
And no rutting shtups

Without matrimony!
No lingerie or lace—such things have no place
And likewise humps, stiletto pumps. Science—much to erase:
He’d rub out so much.

You’d say “goodbye” to your highball,
Drink bad wine under a steeple.
“Art” would be saccharine and treacle.
No queers, no lust, porn-merchant bust.

This plank for theocracy
With strictures, and beaucoup, planning for the coup.
Though his campaign ran out of steam, he’s still got lots to do. . .
His plank he’ll drum up.