And another...

The Virus (C) tune = Harry Pollitt or…Son of a a Gambolier

Well, the Wet Markets of China, are a nightmare to behold,
A twisting, squirming, cesspool that will make your blood run cold.

A breeding place for squaller, unknown viruses and pain,
Disease and untold misery, in mixtures inhumane.

Well, the year was 2019, ’twas December I recall,
The virus started moving in a radiating crawl.

Word came from out of China, as the year was winding down,
Donald Trump told Woodward, “It’s sure to shut us down.”

        It’s sure to shut us down, sure to shut us down,
        Donald Trump told Woodward, “It’s sure to shut us down.”

“I hear the virus passes both by touch and in the air,
I’ll just try to hide it, there’s no need to cause a scare.”

Then Donald told the people, “This will soon be gone,
Just another pesky flu, some fluke phenomenon.” …some fluke (as above)

From China into Europe, creepin’ slowly to the west,
The population of the earth’s, soon under house arrest.

Fourteen days becomes a month, and maybe then a year,
2020’s not so fun, the future’s not so clear. …similarty

Now we’re living with the virus, COVID-19 is its name,
Times is gettin’ hard folks, things might never be the same.

Donald Trump declined, to lead in any way,
He thought if he ignored it, it might just go away.

For a man who questions science, in thought, and word, and deed,
He rode that helicopter all the way to Walter Reed.

Everybody has a say, to what good sense demands,
Stay inside, wear a mask, be sure to wash your hands.

One group trusts the doctors, another says, “No way.”
Folks just keep on dying, the vaccine is “on its way.”

Youth seem not to have a fear, it’s just the elderly,
Hate to say it, some fine day, you’ll be as old as me.

Until this virus is no more, and life begins anew,
I’ll strum upon my ol’ guitar and sing this song for you.