My hair is quite long and my glasses askew,
Yet still you thought I was the best doc for you.
You once were my patient, and I kept you well.
So why did you send goons to put me through hell?
When you were a candidate, I wrote a letter
That never before had there been someone better
To serve as the POTUS (a reference to health;
I left it to others to rule on your wealth.)
But once you resolved to have my office raided
I altered my story. That letter: dictated.
You said what you wanted, and I wrote it down.
The way it all read made me look like a clown.
Superlatives used for your strength and your stamina
Conclusions were offered – I didn’t examine ya’.
Opinions included were then thought as medical,
But now I am claiming they were hypothetical.
My fatal mistake was to say you were taking
A drug to assist with the hair you were making.
So bodyguard, lawyer, and third one unknown
Burst into my office; claimed files as your own.
Your spokesperson said this procedure is normal,
But there is a process to follow that’s formal.
It violates HIPAA without a release.
If I had been thinking, I’da called the police.
I said I felt raped in the wake of this drama.
(I examined myself and I found signs of trauma.)
To this very day, since this raid left me frightened,
I still walk around with my sphincter kept tightened.
At one time, I thought that I might be appointed
Your White House physician. Now – so disappointed.
But before you attack and make things worse between us,
Remember: I know the true size of your penis.