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