A cult is most dangerous when an inflamed gang goes violent, criminal and insurgent—and its leader walks away, unpunished. Here’s an updated adaptation, though with many original lines, from the classic song, “When you’re a Jet,” from West Side Story. Original lyrics by Stephen Sondheim, music by Leonard Bernstein. The last six stanzas are my own. RB
When you’re Trump’s cult,
It’s Trump all the way,
You know you’re a champ,
You never back away!
When you’re Trump’s cult,
You’re the insurgen’ist thing.
Little boy, you’re a man;
Little man, you’re a king!
Here come the Trumpers
Like bats out of hell—
Someone gets in our way,
Someone don’t feel so well!
Here come the Trumpers!
Little world, step aside,
Better go underground,
Better run, better hide!
We’re drawin’ the line,
So keep your noses hidden!
We’re hangin’ a sign,
Says “Enemies Forbidden,”
And we ain’t kiddin’!
Here come the Trumpers—
Yeah! And we’re gonna beat
Every last friggin’ gang
On the whole friggin’ street!
Here comes the Trumpers,
Inspired to riot,
We’re trashers and dumpers,
Obeying our messiah.
Bring on trial by combat,
There’s no other way,
Piss off, you bureaucrat,
We’re your worst doomsday.
The perfect Trump mob,
Amassed to Donald’s call.
To do our hatchet job,
We’re here to appall.
Whata we have to lose?
Our master once spoke.
We got the grievous blues,
A rigged vote to smoke.
We’re America distilled
Ordained with a mission
To bang heads, even kill,
With White House permission.
We’re white and we’re right,
So stay out of our way,
Armed and rarin’ to smite,
If not now, another day.
P.S . I think this captures the present moment and without too many words. RB
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