Bellicose beer-belled bad-*****
Bawdily belting down brewskies
Usually, boozily, bruisily beating
On weaker, sleeker funseekers
In the bar where they are, far
From anything like maturity
Hip hip hooray for unhip USA.

Ballyhooing big screen viewing
Myopic eyes watch others exercise
Freedom-hating grouch on a couch
Itching, *******; psoriasis and sloth
Unread armchair Brother of the Cloth.
One of the minions of opinions,
Hardened against morality, reality.
Saying it every day: USA, USA, USA!

Hating, bating, aggravating, skating
Right past solutions, conclusions
Preferring propaganda, ***** Miranda,
Stop mollycoddling, bottling up anger
Christ in the manger should be law
But they guffaw at reading The Book;
They took their religion from TV.
Freedom for me, not thee, in my USA.

Got mine, ***** yours, rights immune;
That tune don’t play here. No queers
No browns, yellows, Hindus or Jews.
I’ve got news you can use, I abuse
And oppress guys in a dress, yes!
Even if he’s white, it still ain’t right.
The Constitution is old, it just teases.
Mine is Republican Jesus for the USA.

A pigeon for old time religion and God
Everyone else is odd. I saw the movie.
It was groovy and pretty. Went to the city
Saw it in Imax, no blacks in the theater
Thanks to The Creator that gave us all
The intelligence to call things right.
Hip hip hooray for being lily white.
Hip hip hooray for the KKK USA.

Wrap up all your games
And take them all away.
They might be fun for you
But I don’t want to play.

Sometimes what we think is luck
It isn’t that at all
It’s a series of bad decisions
That lead us to a fall.
You never seem to grow
Out of this kind of crap.
And smiling while you cheat
Is another kind of trap.

I don’t want to play
Take yourself away
Don’t come back here
Any other day.

You seem to believe
That finding the right words
Means your lies disappear
Like they were never heard.
You never get embarrassed
At the ugly things you do.
But it turns our stomachs
And embarrasses us too.

Wrap up all your games
And take them all away.
They might be fun for you
But I don’t want to play.

It’s almost like a game
You used to play as a kid
Where all of us were meant
To ignore the things you did.
This is not a playground
And we are not in school.
Once it might have been cute
But now you’re just a fool.

I don’t want to play
No matter what you say,
Today or any day.
Find somebody less aware.
I don’t want to play.

Wishywashington
D.C., you see, consistently.
They flip and they flop
And they never seem to stop
Unless we are talking about blacks
Then they never take anything back.
They want our wonderful free nation
To turn back into a great big plantation
Where the only people who have rights
Are the wealthiest of all of the whites.

And nobody of any other color
Could ever be called a brother
Or treated with equality
Because the word free
Doesn’t belong to you or to me.
It belongs to the richest minority
Who still believe in the divine right
And translate that into might
And are prepared to fight
To keep those down
Who ***** around
With their profits.

They just won’t have it.
There will be hell to pay
And they mean to say, every day
As long as they have anything to say
About who gets the shaft and who gets the pay.
So, don’t go getting any ideas or plans.
Everybody needs to understand
This it’s a man’s world
And it is not for girls
Or people that don’t look like us,
Or those who don’t believe like us.
So, let’s not have some big fuss.
Just do what we say
And everything will be okay.

You rejected your children
Like they were not real men
Like they never had been
Born.
You were seldom with them
Dispatched so little wisdom
But yet plenty of criticism
And scorn.

It’s ten o’clock
Do you know
Where your children are?
Could you find them
By eleven o’clock
Even if you got into your car?

Your life was more important
Than any of your descendants
So they suffered the sentence
Of neglect.
They had to grow on their own
Because they were so alone
In a parental twilight zone,
No respect.

It’s ten o’clock
Do you know
Who your children are?
Did your parenting
Hurt them enough
To leave permanent scars?

Your partying mattered more.
What else is a person’s life for?
And nobody is keeping score
But the kid.
And if anyone should happen by
You can always makeup a lie
Just let them be fool enough to try
What we did.

It’s ten o’clock
Do you know
Where your children are?
Could you find them
By eleven o’clock
Even if you got into your car?

Bell bottom hip huggers
And my Frankenstein shoes
That had stack soles and heels
That I could only barely use.
A crop-top sleeveless tee shirt
With a superman emblem on it
And diamond ring on my hand.
In case I might have to pawn it.

Because we were picketing
Downtown at the City Hall
And at some police stations.
It was the seventies after all.
Our parents raised us to acquiesce
It was their America they protected.
And it was just exactly this blindness
That we, en masse, all rejected.

We failed to understand them
The generations that came before
That prized prejudice and bias
And celebrated sending us to war.
We felt there was another way
To go about sweeping social change.
We saw beating and fire hosing
As nefarious and more than strange.

We got beaten ourselves and jailed
For just pointing injustice out to them
And watched our sit-ins and love-ins
Turned into scenes of ****** mayhem.
We heard them call us all criminals,
Long haired ******* was a favored taunt.
It seems we were entitled to our opinions
As long as we didn’t chose to flaunt.

It felt so very much like **** Germany
Including storm troopers and jack boots
And the local politicians were obviously
At least agreeing if not in cahoots
With the police in their fear of rebellion
And protecting their good paying jobs.
So, they beat us and vilified the students
Calling them ***** communists, and slobs.

And, yes, some of us were getting high
Back in our homes and apartments.
Sometimes it seemed the only way
We could deal with the estrangement
Between what our country said it was
And what it turned out it really was.
It was hard to realize our land wasn’t free
And there was no social Santa Claus.

I was raised by a pack of fools
Who proclaim Caucasians are the best.
And are glad to fight, at the drop of a hint
To put the whole matter to the test.
They have an entire joke routine
And descriptive names they repeat
In minimizing and insisting that
Their right to decent treatment isn’t real.

There are references to some animals
And unfunny comments about color.
The statements about characteristics
Of body and features always go together
With a special set of gross anecdotes
To cover any kind of non-Christian belief.
And the refusal to consider equality
As a decent attitude stands in bright relief.

Beneath all this horror, not very deep,
Lies a sickening river of hate and fear
That fails to improve as education is
Rejected year after disgusting year.
Pointing out the error of their ways
Might earn you a punch in the eye
But the bigot hangs on to their rage
And never gives fellowship a try.

The American Bigot claims to be
A staunch Christian all the way through
Which forces them to hate and cheat
And lie as much as Jesus would do.
Of course, we know that Jesus was
A preacher of love and acceptance
But it seems that bigots never quite
Made that Jesus’ acquaintance.

So, here we can see we need to add
Some terms to this kind of individual
Whose relationship to peace and love
Is at best slight, scant and residual.
We also need to append to their titles
Of masters of anger fear and prejudice
The unhealthy pallor of indecency,
Dishonesty, inhumanity and cowardice.

Wiggy doesn’t mean it is a wig
Just that it looks very like one;
And the hairdo is so ludicrous
That we can’t help making fun.
You act like an adolescent
Your orange hair is almost funny.
You utter the most inane things
Your disposition totally not sunny.

Wiggy little piggy, is what you are
As you ludicrously strut about.
You make yourself a laughingstock
From your hooves up to your snout.
You spout a bunch of garbage
High on the ignorance scale
Like you bought it all half price
At a dollar-store basement sale.

Snort and wiggle, grimace and scowl
It’s quite the side-show carnival show
You open your mouth and let fall out
Words that prove what you do not know.
Grunt and wallow in your own mud
Holler, howl, bellow and squeal
As if the lies you are telling us all
Amount to something valid and real.

Wiggy little piggy, is what you are
As you ludicrously strut about.
You make yourself a laughingstock
From your hooves up to your snout.
You spout a bunch of garbage
High on the ignorance scale
Like you bought it all half price
At a dollar-store basement sale.

So far, you are making yourself
Totally beloved in the Sainted South
But to most of us you would look
Better with an apple in your mouth.
You **** and moan and pontificate
And spout such bigoted wit
That the best place for you is
Guest of honor on a barbecue spit.

Wiggy little piggy, is what you are
As you ludicrously strut about.
You make yourself a laughingstock
From your hooves up to your snout.
You spout a bunch of garbage
High on the ignorance scale
Like you bought it all half price
At a dollar-store basement sale.