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This little England, it's dingy and it's mean |
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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 |
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It must be America |
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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. |
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|
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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 |
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Or nothing at all. |
