This little England, it's dingy and it's mean
|
I've flirted with her mewling gods and petty jelousies
|
These edited-reader rebels with their simulated causes
|
Their weak-chinned snarls and red guitars I disregard them all
|
|
When they pin me to the wall I'll say:
|
I'm with America
|
With godless America, I'll stand and I'll fall
|
Though it cuts me to my soul that
|
It must be America
|
It must be America
|
Or nothing at all.
|
|
The Popstars who write operas and make fatuous remarks
|
The theory-quoting upstarts who snort fair-trade coke in parks
|
I find myself a loner and I find myself bereft
|
I find myself agreeing with Bill O'Reilly more than the left.
|
|
When they pin me to the wall I'll say:
|
I'm with America
|
With godless America, I'll stand and I'll fall
|
Though it cuts me to my soul that
|
It must be America
|
It must be America
|
Or nothing at all.
|
|
-----------------
|
America
|
| The Indelicates |
