From where did he come, this huge-pile bum?
From where did he come, this snarling-tongue scum?
He grumbles and he whines and shelves Oxycontin,
He squawks and he squalls, a dickish crybaby,
He schleps his gross middle in and gabs a snore-fest,
He’s big on the drugs. . .downs a dozen pill potions,
He’s a loudmouth and cries like stuffed cows in a barnyard.
Yes, it’s the lard, it’s the lard, it’s the lard, it’s the lard,
It the lard bane’s a-gonna bawl.

What’s anyone see in this huge vile bum?
What’s anyone see in snarling-tongue scum?
It is not baby fat that’s surrounding the big twit,
The guy should go on a diet; he ain’t lookin’ too fit,
Skin pasty and blanched, drug-addled dipsh!t,
He fills a whole room, this man, yammering and screeching,
He gobbles white tablets yet keeps getting fatter,
He’s a motormouted talker. . .wish his tongue were broken,
He’s a putz with dark words and minions like children.
Yes, it’s marred, it’s a scarred, it’s a lard, it’s a charred,
It’s a charred brain’s a-gonna squall.

And when do you hear this huge riled bum?
And when do you hear this snarling dung scum?
You hear the clown thunder; he bores on all morning,
Hear a roar from this knave who downs a gross o’ [Cheese] Curls®,
Hear dunciad drumbeat from fatty man pasty,
Hear never a whisper, the myrmidons listenin’
Hear a man not starved, whose flab slabs flap amply,
Hear a frog-like dronin’ rumbling from a fat gut,
Hear the sound of a clown, who lies for his allies
Yes, it’s a ’tard, it’s a ’tard, it’s a ’tard, it’s a ’tard,
It’s a ’tard reign that appalls.

How much did he eat, this huge-thighs bum?
How much did he eat, this lardassed loves-buns?
He ate a huge pile of cream-slathered scones; he
Then ate some fries and wokked a whole hog,
He ate some fried dough an his body was girthing,
He ate ice-cream swirls and drained a whole pail load,
He ate a ham and then swooned for more grub,
He ate another ham. . .all this food, yet not sated.
Now with this lard, with this lard, with this lard, with this lard,
With this lard weight, gotta crawl

So what’ll he do now, this huge-pile bum?
So what’ll he do now, this snarling half ton?
I’m a-gonna get out ’fore this bane starts a-bawlin’,
He squawks like a pest that induces a bore-fest
Yet the people are many who hark to his dreck spree,
He’s a yeller of poison that’s flooding the airwaves,
He’s a bloated gasbag and a scam. . .dearth of wisdom,
And his neck, because of his face, is always well-hidden,
This drug fiend is ugly and his soul is all rotten,
He barks with a choler that plays well with numbskulls,
He’s so slabbed with fat, it’s amazing he’s breathing,
He’s got genuflecting trolls such as Michael Steele,
Who’s the moron that speaks for a party that’s sinkin’.
When your radio smells, the fat man is slingin’
Out lots of marde, it’s just marde, it’s just marde, it’s just marde,
When the lard bane a-starts to bawl.