It was the night before Christmas and in the White House the lights were dim,
A solitary person strolled the hollowed halls, he walked as a man on a limb.
His demand was on the table, the lines were drawn tight,
It would be on his mind on this frightful long dark night.
A wall was in his dreams and those dreams were being smashed,
He was like a fighter in the ring but his body had been abused and lashed.
But he was a fighter, the maker of deals, the person who could argue from the hip.
Why oh, why then was his popularity on the downside and worse of all why did the market dip?
Gone were his stalwarts, his advisors, those silent mutes now evicted from their glass domes,
Sent back for one reason or another back to the depths of their homes.
Kelly, Sessions and Mathis plus others names now forgotten,
Gone was their bodies, their minds, like old fish now rotten.
Oh, Santa Claus I need a gift, one that I can trust and behold.
Maybe a hundred percent rooms rented at Largo, all rooms sold.
And then maybe the deal of the century, a Trump Hotel in Moscow with top notch suites,
A parade should be held down the Washington streets, with a band playing my personal beats.
Yeah, Yeah, and Yeah, Trump is the Man,
He gets the job done, as only he can.
So, the Stock Market takes a tumble and people lose their shirt.
So people hate my mood swings and tend to treat me with remarks that hurt.
I got Fox News and that is all the comments that I need,
Cut me and you will see my blood has red, white and blue as it will bleed.
I will shout, Merry Christmas to all, as I sit on my throne.
Sitting there I will do that, as I get glory from my friend Hannity as we speak on the phone.
Good luck for the year of 2019 as the country is in dead lock,
At least I own the real estate painted White on this prestigious block.