Verse 1 Walked through the halls of history, marble cool and wide, Found the Founding Fathers staring, mouths open, eyes surprised. Turns out somebody brought a red pen, stayed a while, Decided every President needed… notes and a profile. Washington: “Fine.” Lincoln: “Overrated.” Roosevelt: “Too loud.” Reagan: “Complicated.” Obama? “Divisive.” Biden? “Worst by far.” And one glowing review written in gold With fourteen exclamation stars. Chorus He graded the Presidents, every single one, Gave himself an A-plus, said the rest were mostly done. History was tired, so he fixed it on the wall, Wrote his own report card And curved it for himself and all. Verse 2 Jefferson built a nation, Lincoln held it tight, FDR fought fascism, kept the lights on through the night. Obama broke a ceiling made of centuries of stone, But somehow “divisive” gets engraved… By the man who wrote it alone. Biden gets an autopen, framed where he should be, Not a portrait — just a joke hung where the world can see. Like democracy’s a prop in a one-man show, Where the loudest voice decides What the past is supposed to know. Chorus He graded the Presidents, rewrote every page, Put himself above the mountain, carved his name into the age. If you didn’t praise the author, you didn’t make the cut, This isn’t how a nation leads — It’s how a mirror struts. Bridge (spoken, dry, incredulous) Normally history waits. It watches. It argues. It takes generations. But apparently… It can be rewritten During a lunch break. Verse 3 Gold frames in the colonnade, ego on display, Every plaque a little sermon on why he’s here to stay. Not policy, not service, not the weight of consequence, Just “I was the greatest,” Signed, stamped, and laminated. The Constitution cleared its throat, The ghosts leaned in to stare, Like, “Is he… reviewing us?” “Yes. Yes, he is. Right there.” Final Chorus He graded the Presidents, crowned himself the best, Turned the White House hallway into a Yelp review contest. But history doesn’t answer to a pen or polished brass— It remembers who protected truth And who couldn’t stop admiring the glass. Outro You can hang your verdicts on the wall, Write legends in your tone, But power doesn’t make you history— History decides that Long after you’re gone.
