Before Inferno's Gate

My friends, if I might have a word or two
About a subject that just slipped my mind ...
No, wait! I'll have my staff get back to you

About how many houses, and what kind,
My wife might own in various disguise
To keep the tax-man guessing, vexed, and blind.

My friends, I never meant to criticize
The Black Messiah preaching to the choir
Or spread those “Foreign! Muslim! Traitor!” lies

Of which, my friends, you know you never tire.
So when I spit and drool you never flee,
But sit, engrossed, around your TV fire.

I'm John McCain, I think you'll all agree.
Abandon hope all you who'd vote for me.

My friends, if I might speak in a cliché
And utter static noise with “clarity,”
Or coin a phrase used endlessly each day

I say with not one trace of irony
That I was held a prisoner before
But suffered grim and stoic and silently

Until I found it useful to implore
Some voters to accept my vicious lies.
I’ve therefore learned an easy way to score

Cheap points about my "private" jet that flies
At altitudes from which I take the view
That those who weep should simply dry their eyes.

My friends, I’ve got three words to share with you:
A noun, a verb, and P. O. W.