Will the Fat Lady Sing?

Slid into town with a Bible and grin

Sold us hope in a four-year spin

Said he’d fix what the rich had burned

Then Grabbed the gold while his voters squirmed

[Pre-Chorus 1]

Built his throne on debt and lies

Plastic crown, brain-dead eyes

Promised steak, served up lies

Now we choke while our nation dies

[Chorus 1]

All hail the fat Burger King

Fake crown, fast food, same old stupid thing

Truth burned out in a TV flame

He’s done — cooked — the Broad Ass Burger King

[Verse 2]

Sold us walls, then spiked our debt

Laughed while the heartland felt regret

Preached salvation, pushed the pain

Cashed our checks, took his gain

[Pre-Chorus 2]

Tweets racist slime, words that sting

Bought the choir, sold their wings

Fed us faith for dollar signs

Now we bleed out in the long breadline

[Chorus 2]

All hail the Burger King

Gold clown sporting Chinese bling

Dreams sold cheap, wounds that sting

We’re done — with the greasy Burger King

[Bridge]

We prayed for light, he sold us hats

Towns went dark — while he just laughs

Clown in red, starving folks unfed

He’s scared a guillotine will take his head

[Final Chorus]

So long to the Burger King

Grift-fed god selling cheap Chinese bling

History’s bell — let the verdict ring

He’s cooked — one greasy-ass Burger King

[Outro] (Spoken)

Yeah… he’s cooked

Order up

Count the cost

Gene Scott grew up on a tenant farm in Sheffield, Illinois, where strip mines swallowed the prairie and Euclid trucks hauled coal past the kitchen window. His father welded for International Harvester winters and pulled hogs from collapsed mine shafts. His mother drove a hundred miles round-trip to Bradley University three days a week, graduated with honors, and never let them miss a meal. Scott earned degrees from Illinois and Tennessee, married Lana Ferguson on her family’s front porch in Hancock County—the oldest residence in the county, where her Confederate ancestor is buried at the edge of the woods—and raised a son in the Appalachian foothills. His writing draws on Midwestern magical realism, generational memory, and the stories told around oak kitchen tables where stoker men and snake women once drank coffee.