America - The Indelicates

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