by James Higgins

(Sung to the tune of 1909’s “My Pony Boy.”)

ConeyGirl.
ConeyGirl.
Drumpf adores you,
don’ he, girl!
Take some heat,
then a seat
on our highest court.
Plan, in sum…?
Just keep mum:
you’ll be soon confirm’d.
Antonin-Clarence kin! (Bader Gin-…? No-o-o-o!)
O ConeyGirl!

ConeyGirl.
ConeyGirl.
Now you’re Mitch’s
crony, girl.
Precedents…?
Founders’ bents
trump ’em — so you’ll rule.
Wade v Roe…?
One must go,
as must ACA.
Lexual. Textual. (Sexual…? Who-o-oa!)
O ConeyGirl.

ConeyGirl.
ConeyGirl.
Dems feel you’re a phony, girl.
Immigrants
stand no chance.
Long gun bearers thrive.
Peopl’of Praise
damn the gays.
Where do you come down…?
COVID slays. World’s malaise. (End of Days…? Doh!!)
O ConeyGirl.