This tangled web we weave spans from Pine to Ruby Ridge Back to Shay's defeat On up to Gufstafsen Now cue the ass parade of dittoheads and commisars and pricks Drown out the faintest hint of commie faggot heretics
The nail that sticks up g ets hammered down The master's finest tools are found Slack-jawed and placid Amidst the cacophony Of screaming billboards and Disney-fied history
Sometimes the ties that bind are strange No justice shines upon the cemetary plots marked Hampton, Weaver, or Anna Mae Where federal bureas and fraternal orders Have cast their shadows Permanent features build into these borders
But undercover of the The customary gap we find between History and truth Founding fathers Bask in the rockets blinding red glare Bombs bursting in air
But the truth is The back country learned of ratification The people had a coffen painted black And solemnly born in funeral procession They buried it deep in the earth An an emblem of their disillusion Internment of their public liberty Someday, somewhere Today's empires, tomorrow's ashesTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
