Anybody remember a song from the 90s called “Lump”? It’s been playing a lot on one of the stations I listen to on my music-streaming service. The lyrics don’t make a lot of sense, so I looked it up online and learned that it was written by a rocker named Chris Ballew about his own brain tumor, combined with a vision he’d had of a woman in a swamp. Even with that background, some of the lyrics still don’t make much sense, but the other day I suddenly realized that they could be re-purposed with some judicious alterations. So I spent part of my Saturday having some fun writing new lyrics for this song made famous by … the Presidents of the United States of America.
And here they are playing the original song:
Trump laid alone in a tanning bed,
Totally diminutive except for his head
Orange flowed up into Trump's comb-over
Until he looked like a cheeto-colored Grover
He's Trump, he's Trump
He's off his head
He's Trump, he's Trump, he's Trump
He gives me dread
Trump lingered last in line for brains
and the one he got was sorta rotten and insane
Small things so sad his fingers and hands
Does Trump wanna win or is he tending to his brand?
He's Trump, he's Trump
He's off his head
He's Trump, he's Trump, he's Trump
He gives me dread
Trump was crude and bankrupt and ready to brawl
Trump put on a cap and said he’d build a wall
He ginned up hatred and baited race
Trump roused the wrath of his sub-moronic base
He's lump, he's lump
He's off his head
He's lump, he's lump, he's lump
He gives me dread
Is this Trump outta his head?
I think so
Is this Trump outta his head?
I think so
Is this Trump outta his head?
I think so
Is this Trump outta his head?