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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. |
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