Dawkins, Dawkins, where will you be?
When your browsing and browsing through your TV.
Only to find Trump has won.
No, Hillary is not number one.
So you take a chair with a rope or two.
And tie a noose, dangling from the roof.
O how can, how can. Why Hath Trump won?
Maybe because Hillary isn't number one.
And so the deed was done;
For here Lewis had hung,
And Donald Trump WAS number one.
In the pits of hell, Lewis had sobbed
but Billie's penis was the one that throbbed.
Billie came in the room.
The smell of death gathered around whom.
Whipping out her rod, futa and all.
It was time to bounce Lewis upon the wall.
Wheeling back, the woman had posted;
With a mighty slap, the cock had boasted.
The corpse swung with such grace,
one could compare it to a malevolent mace.
Lewis' carcass, ripped apart.
Molted and molted, falling at heart.
In the flames of Lucifer, Dawkins had wept.
With the slap of the futa, off he was swept.
He smashed into the wall, cracking it open,
The force was the futa's token.
The neighbors eventually heard the scene
But were oblivious to it being obscene.
So there they went, to the Dawkins family house.
And right there was what could not be unseen.
Billie Smith, futa and all, hitting Dawkins apart.
The End.