Add a letter to my end, would you? I belong to the lineage of a mister; Donald is his name, childish his moniker. He does not reign, no, he does not rule, But he uses lyrics like a tool. Once you know, remove the last; your hand I cover.

Sometimes, I’m a wall. Sometimes, I’m a mouth. Sometimes, I’m a jar. Sometimes, I’m unhinged.

I may lack a heart, but I have utility. A Sin with no I. I am number fifty. With ker, you’ll get a knack. If you’re crazy, I might even be a hat.

Wooden voice with strands you strum, Electrified or not, I name the air hum. Strings that sing when you pluck intently, Sometimes I even weep - but gently.

I'm sticky but I'm not syrup. I can be big. I can also be tiny. I come in different colors however I'm not paint. What am I?