For weeks now have I heard much spat and much spec’,

Regarding the questions the prez can expec’.

They say Mueller’s list has 40-plus zingers,

Though Don ain’t the type that such a time lingers,

Concerned by the logjam he’s got on his desk,

And missing his festively Fox News burlesque.

Yet worthies Bill B and Ray Mc us remind

That NSA savants can Bob ask to find

All Trump campaign calls and texts north and south,

And get what Trump said from the horse’s own mouth.

Well, what good’s data if it sits on a disk?

Pull out those records and make a search brisk.

And I wish Bob would ’cause we’re all getting sick,

Of endlessly hearing the experts’ dumb shtick,

Of the upsides of that and downsides of this,

Or whether Don’s lawyer has been sore remiss,

Or if Rudy meant A when he walked back on B,

Or if Stormy’s bank account’s a size double-D.

Thank goodness for leaks from above and below,

That to this long story lend some push and flow,

Let newsmen continue their magician’s drum roll

As the rest of us wait for this heifer to foal.

The hypnosis of story’s a powerful thing:

Still – still! – we all hang on the fat man to sing.