Victory Parade (For One Small Man)

military march, orchestral, martial symphony

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V4.5

★★★

Trump wants tanks on the avenue,
A birthday bash in army green,
Thousands march for his applause,
For a man who’s never seen a war scene.

Six thousand soldiers,
Two thousand civilians,
Fifty choppers overhead,
Seven marching bands play the soundtrack,
For a president dancing in his head.
Paladins and Bradleys,
Strykers roll on through,
He saw France parade Bastille Day,
And said, “I want one too.”

Victory Day, he’s renaming the world,
Because what’s a man without his medals unfurled?

It’s a victory parade,
For one small man,
Fireworks light the sky,
For the size of his hand.
A billion-dollar display,
Of rented glory and brass,
Roll out the tanks,
Watch the pavement crack.

From Arlington to the Mall,
With Howitzers in tow,
The Golden Knights will parachute in,
For a show he’ll never outgrow.
The roads can’t handle the weight,
The mayor pleads, “Not the tanks,”
But the man demands his moment,
So the generals fill the ranks.

Victory Day, repainting the past,
For a man who only feels big when the world claps.

It’s a victory parade,
For one small man,
Fireworks light the sky,
For the size of his hand.
A billion-dollar display,
Of rented glory and brass,
Roll out the tanks,
Watch the pavement crack.

Call it Bastille Day,
Call it Moscow’s flair,
Wave the flags and banners,
Pretend that he’s not scared.
Line the streets with soldiers,
Line his mind with cheers,
Fill the hole he’s hiding,
That’s been growing for years.

Because a man without victories
Will manufacture pride,
On the backs of young soldiers,
He’ll take his birthday ride.

It’s a victory parade,
For one small man,
Fireworks light the sky,
For the size of his hand.
A billion-dollar display,
Of rented glory and brass,
Roll out the tanks,
Watch the pavement crack.

Watch the pavement crack.
Watch the pavement crack.
All for one man’s parade,
That history won’t take back.

2607/7500

In the summer of 2025, plans surfaced for a massive military parade on Donald Trump’s 79th birthday. The scale was staggering: thousands of soldiers, tanks, helicopters, brass bands, parachutists — all orchestrated to create a spectacle of power on the National Mall. Inspired by the bombastic displays of North Korea and the Soviet Union, the parade carried the unmistakable scent of authoritarian excess, crafted not for the nation’s soul but for one man’s ego. This song is a biting satire, mocking the absurdity of staging a billion-dollar show of force just to soothe one leader’s insecurities. It asks: what kind of leader demands tanks to feel tall? And at what cost will the pavement crack beneath the weight of his need for glory? ★★★ Trump wants tanks on the avenue, A birthday bash in army green, Thousands march for his applause, For a man who’s never seen a war scene. Six thousand soldiers, Two thousand civilians, Fifty choppers overhead, Seven marching bands play the soundtrack, For a president dancing in his head. Paladins and Bradleys, Strykers roll on through, He saw France parade Bastille Day, And said, “I want one too.” Victory Day, he’s renaming the world, Because what’s a man without his medals unfurled? It’s a victory parade, For one small man, Fireworks light the sky, For the size of his hand. A billion-dollar display, Of rented glory and brass, Roll out the tanks, Watch the pavement crack. From Arlington to the Mall, With Howitzers in tow, The Golden Knights will parachute in, For a show he’ll never outgrow. The roads can’t handle the weight, The mayor pleads, “Not the tanks,” But the man demands his moment, So the generals fill the ranks. Victory Day, repainting the past, For a man who only feels big when the world claps. It’s a victory parade, For one small man, Fireworks light the sky, For the size of his hand. A billion-dollar display, Of rented glory and brass, Roll out the tanks, Watch the pavement crack. Call it Bastille Day, Call it Moscow’s flair, Wave the flags and banners, Pretend that he’s not scared. Line the streets with soldiers, Line his mind with cheers, Fill the hole he’s hiding, That’s been growing for years. Because a man without victories Will manufacture pride, On the backs of young soldiers, He’ll take his birthday ride. It’s a victory parade, For one small man, Fireworks light the sky, For the size of his hand. A billion-dollar display, Of rented glory and brass, Roll out the tanks, Watch the pavement crack. Watch the pavement crack. Watch the pavement crack. All for one man’s parade, That history won’t take back.

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