Feeling The Press-ure

You’ll tell me that it’s morning, but I’ll say it’s afternoon.
You say I never visit, and I say I’ll see you soon.
The sun is up; it must be night – the moon; it must be day.
I say it’s time for questions, but I wish you’d go away.

I do the best with what I have, which we know isn’t much.
I asked you out to dinner; when the check came I said, “Dutch.”
Your head is on the floor while I keep my feet on the ceiling.
My job: to keep the truth from accidentally revealing.

You say you’re seeking background, but I say it’s all attack.
I’m filled with credibility, which you all say I lack.
We did a really awesome job in saving Puerto Rico.
The President has hands that are much bigger than his ego.

To celebrate the Super Bowl, we host the team that wins.
Except this time – they kept us waiting on needles and pins.
A handful planned to show up, which we thought was idiotic,
So we just smeared the lot of them; said they’re not patriotic.

Your job is asking questions, and my job is to evade.
I’m lying in the bed that Donald Trump has for me made.
But when I finally tire of keeping all the press at bay,
I’ll hook up with Scott Pruitt’s wife and run a Chick-Fil-A.

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