While I was zipping all across the country
To see if anyone would vote for me,
I flew in my own plane because, quite bluntly,
No other jet was swathed in luxury.
The man at the controls was named John Dunkin.
He always got me where I had to be.
The time between locations always shrunken
Because he flew so fast and flawlessly.
But ever since I won the Presidency
I’ve had to travel inside Air Force One.
No longer preferred cockpit residency
For that fearless and skilled son of a gun.
Instead of forcing him to just sit idly
And worry that his skills might fade away,
I had a thought, soon to be acclaimed widely –
I want him to head up the FAA.
Who better than a pilot to be running
The agency that oversees the sky?
I’m certain in the role that he’d be stunning:
He knows what’s going on – a real smart guy.
The budget for this agency is massive:
Some sources say it’s roughly 16 bil.
It needs some leadership that isn’t passive –
Someone who’s got the guts and knows the drill.
There’s no question Dunkin is the right man;
Don’t even have to see his résumé.
I’ll get Congress all behind this flight plan –
I don’t see how this scheme could go astray.
Some say to give the nom to Sullenberger;
A pathway different from the one I planned.
He kept his plane afloat, did not submerge her.
But me? I like flyboys who stick to land.
To those who ridicule, I just say: “So what?”
I can make it real once I declare it.
If not Dunkin, then – dollars to donuts –
Just another job I’ll give to Jared.
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