Check 1–2, check 1–2. Is this thing still free speech? Cool. Hit it. Hey Mr. President what the fuck is wrong with you? We're patching up America, with duct tape and I-O-Us. billionaires on the moon. You film another photo-op in a hard hat for the news, but you never filled a pothole and you never walked in our shoes. You’re signing bills at midnight while the cameras take a break, and every “fix” you sell us somehow makes our lives more fake. Hey Mr. President what the fuck is wrong with you?! We’re drowning in debt while you’re golfing with the few. You preach trickle-down like it’s gospel truth, but we’re mopping up lies in a leaky voting booth. Hey Mr. President can you hear us through the spin? We’re tired of the circus let the people in. Hey Mr. President what the fuck is wrong with you? My generation’s patience just filed for Chapter 22. You hand pardons like candy, like the cameras need a treat but candy doesn’t matter when the pantry’s obsolete. You smile for the donors, we ration groceries instead you get applause from the boardroom, we get GoFundMe to stay fed. You love “the children” when the polls get tight, then you ghost them at recess and kiss guns goodnight. We’ve got drills in the classroom, kids hitting the floor but you’re cashing checks from the lobby next door. Hey Mr. President what the fuck is wrong with you?! You keep the feast while we chew through shoes. You say “the system works” yeah, for who? The lobbyist’s nephew with a trust fund too? Hey, Mr. President, we’re not your PR crew. The mic is hot. The truth is loose. And we see right through you. Hey Mr. President… fix your face. We can see you. 2025 GenXDreams
