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The lyrics for this song are based on an article about 45 written by British journalist, Nate White. I pushed his prose around, added some words for rhyming purposes and did my best to turn it into a song lyric without intentionally damaging it. Executive Producers Don Caron and Jerry Pender SUPPORT Visit CONTRIBUTE to the PROJECT BTC: 33W8cvkCKupG77ChtTFXeAFmEBCaLcjsBJ ETH: 0x1f36edE7A4F06830D0e3d675776607790a2ce636 SHOP Parody Project Store: PATRONAGE To become a Patron of Parody Project please visit our Patreon Page MAILING LIST (Never Shared) LYRICS to “Fits Him to a T“ He has no class, no charm, no coolness, No credibility, no compassion, No wit, no warmth, no wisdom, No subtlety, no sense of fashion He’s forever trying to save face Devoid of honor, devoid of grace No sensitivity, no self-awareness, No humility, no sense of humor Always laughable, but never funny With all the charm of a malignant tumor Never laughs. Only crows and jeers. Thinks it’s clever when he stokes the people’s fears. Sure there’s stupid people and nasty people, too But stupid’s never been this nasty Nor has nasty been this stupid. He likes to talk in witless insults Making them up is a goal of his Petty bigotry and knee-jerk nasty demonstrating that he lost that soul of his He has turned his artlessness into a form of art His flaws have flaws completely off the chart He’s neither plucky nor an underdog Quite the opposite of all that A white-slug privileged Jabba boy He’s a bully and he’s also fat He lays his gross dysfunctions out for everyone to see. And that is why this fits him to a “T” The Original Essay by Nate White (shortened to fit into a Youtube description) Full version here Trump lacks certain qualities which the British traditionally esteem. For instance, he has no class, no charm, no coolness, no credibility, no compassion, no wit, no warmth, no wisdom, no subtlety, no sensitivity, no self-awareness, no humility, no honour and no grace – all qualities, funnily enough, with which his predecessor Mr. Obama was generously blessed. Plus, we like a laugh. And while Trump may be laughable, he has never once said anything wry, witty or even faintly amusing – not once, ever. And that fact is particularly disturbing to the British sensibility – for us, to lack humour is almost inhuman. But with Trump, it’s a fact. He doesn’t even seem to understand what a joke is – his idea of a joke is a crass comment, an illiterate insult, a casual act of cruelty. Trump is a troll. And like all trolls, he is never funny and he never laughs; he only crows or jeers. And scarily, he doesn’t just talk in crude, witless insults – he actually thinks in them. His mind is a simple bot-like algorithm of petty prejudices and knee-jerk nastiness. There is never any under-layer of irony, complexity, nuance or depth. It’s all surface. Some Americans might see this as refreshingly upfront. Well, we don’t. We see it as having no inner world, no soul. And in Britain we traditionally side with David, not Goliath. All our heroes are plucky underdogs: Robin Hood, Dick Whittington, Oliver Twist. Trump is neither plucky, nor an underdog. He is the exact opposite of that. He’s not even a spoiled rich-boy, or a greedy fat-cat. He’s more a fat white slug. A Jabba the Hutt of privilege. And worse, he is that most unforgivable of all things to the British: a bully. That is, except when he is among bullies; then he suddenly transforms into a snivelling sidekick instead. There are unspoken rules to this stuff – the Queensberry rules of basic decency – and he breaks them all. He punches downwards – which a gentleman should, would, could never do – and every blow he aims is below the belt. He particularly likes to kick the vulnerable or voiceless – and he kicks them when they are down. So the fact that a significant minority – perhaps a third – of Americans look at what he does, listen to what he says, and then think ‘Yeah, he seems like my kind of guy’ is a matter of some confusion and no little distress to British people, given that: Americans are supposed to be nicer than us, and mostly are. You don’t need a particularly keen eye for detail to spot a few flaws in the man. This last point is what especially confuses and dismays British people, and many other people too; his faults seem pretty bloody hard to miss. After all, it’s impossible to read a single tweet, or hear him speak a sentence or two, without staring deep into the abyss. He turns being artless into an art form; he is a Picasso of pettiness; a Shakespeare of shit. His faults are fractal: even his flaws have flaws, and so on ad infinitum.
