I’ve called you a lowlife, I’ve called you a loser.
You once were my pal, now you are my accuser.
Your book makes me look like a sad demagogue;
And so in response I have called you a dog.
I’ve known you a long time, thought you were a friend to me –
So what did I do to deserve all this enmity?
Is this because I sent Kelly over to fire you?
Then be pissed at him – I’m the fellow who hired you!
You keep playing tapes, which may turn out illegal.
You show up on TV; your wardrobe is regal.
You came to me crying, but now you are grinning.
Not sure in the court of opinion who’s winning.
You must crave attention, which I understand.
I also claimed tapes — overplaying my hand.
Who’s telling the truth here seems clear, but is then blurred:
A tape may exist where I’m saying the n-word.
I tweeted that word isn’t in my vocab,
Unlike all those pussys I wanted to grab.
I wouldn’t have said it (I hired Ben Carson)…
From unfounded sources these rumors all are spun.
What other recordings have you long been making?
You have proof of other behaviors I’m faking?
At least you denied that we ever were lovers.
(Melania just wants to crawl under the covers.)
You come at me, dog that you are: I attack.
I’ll rip you apart, since decorum I lack.
You’ve prompted my launch of a new Twitter binge:
No wonder your book has the title, “Unhinged.”