Penn'd in the Fall, Folks (of 2016)

His aim’s to appall, folks.
He’s building a wall, folks. 
With thumbs short ‘n’ small, folks,
he tweets folderol, folks.
(So: how many Justices
will he install, folks…?) 

With gaze oozing gall, folks, 

he’s answ'ring fans’ call, folks,
which fans tend to brawl, folks,
and talk with a drawl, folks.
(So: which third-world dictators
does he enthrall, folks…?) 

His moll is a doll, folks.

His kids own the mall, folks.
His tales are all tall, folks -- 
though "Screwball!” some bawl, folks.
(So: when will his “telling it like it is”
pall, folks...?) 

In marts label'd Wal-, folks,

for toadies he’ll trawl, folks.
His druthers…? To loll, folks, 
or foist free-for-all, folks.
(So: if he’s elected,
what fate might befall folks…?) 

He never will crawl, folks,

nor will his rise stall, folks.
I’m fearful of Fall, folks.
Says he: “Fuck you all, folks!”
(So: which of his challengers
plans a withdraw’l, folks…?}

Meanwhile, who’ll opt

to him stop with a mawl, folks…?
And who’ll give their all, folks,
to see the man crawl, folks…?
Or move to Transvaal, folks…?
Or throw in the tow’l, folks…?
(So: what can be done
to make Don cry, “That’s all, folks…?)