(With no apologies to Frank Sinatra or Paul Anka)
(wistfully, reflective)
So nu–the end is near?
Should Donald lose, we may have issues
It looks, at least from here
Bad for the Jews, so pass the tissues.
I’ve scammed, I’ve skimmed and schemed
And not in a nice-Jewish-boy way
So if the bill is due
I’m thinking “oy vey.”
(resigned, defeated)
My wife’s a piece of work
Work on her nose, her lips and boobies
Her greed makes her berserk
And she loves fame far more than rubies.
If she can’t swan around
In all her fake Helen-of-Troy way
At home my ass is grass
And, really, oy vey.
(amused, contemptuous)
Her sibs are even worse
The one is dumb, the other dumber
Young Junior is a curse
As nudniks come, he is a comer
While Eric does his job
But in a dim, child-with-a-toy way
They’re toast without their dad
You said it—oy vey.
(unbowed, determined)
Yes, we have kids, we raise them frum.
And if one day, to us they come,
And ask if we’re a pair of crooks,
We’ll take away their screens and books.
We’ll counsel them, “Go ask Hashem.”
And He’ll say, “Oy Vey.”
(quietly, awed)
Now Trump, boy, there’s a mess
He thinks he’s cool, like Corleone
But none of his success
Is gabbagool, it’s all baloney
The loans, the deals, the debts
He’s screwed ‘em in his self-destroy way
It’s all, all turned to shit,
As we say “Oy vey.”
(defiant, triumphant)
But who gives a fuck? Win lose or draw
I’ve got too rich to fear the law
Or some D.A. who thinks he’s God
We’ll move to Moscow or Riyadh
I’ve stashed my dough, we’re packed to go
So keep your “Oy vey”
