misunderestimated

Republicans wake up to what they've wrought
through bitter years, debasing our discourse
ironic prize obstructionism's bought
the race is on, but they've not got a horse
a fascist seized control of their machine
exploiting television to attack
their puppeteers who work behind the scenes
and now they whine he's stabbed them in the back
"You'll love it! Trust me!" and they miss the smirk
whatever they expect of him, he'll say
with no intention of making it work
he'll sing another tune another day
they erred, dismissing him as just a clown
who threatens to take their whole party down