They told us the Epstein client list was coming. Pam Bondi swore she had it. Kash Patel teased it on camera. Bongino nodded along. And thenāpoof!āitās either āclassified,ā āmisplaced,ā or, hey, maybe it never existed at all. Funny how that works when the stakes are billionaires, blackmail, and the worldās dirtiest secrets.
āThere Aināt No Listā is a snark-soaked, pop-punk anthem that rips into the left, the right, and every flip-flopping pundit who played hero⦠then suddenly forgot how to spell āEpstein.ā From Bondiās vanishing files to Kashās hush-hush dance, and Bonginoās curious about-face, itās a loud, sarcastic anthem to anyone still selling fairy tales.
With power chords, gang vocals, and verses that name names, the song calls out the entire clown show: the media gaslighting, the āsuicideā that defies belief, and the magical disappearing flight logs. Because while the elite play dumb and scream ācoincidence,ā the rest of us know betterāand weāre done pretending.
Hit play, crank it loud, and decide for yourself. Epstein might be gone, but weāre not done asking where that darn list went.
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