On ‘Murica

I see you looting that store,
sneaking across that border,
speaking with a foreign tongue,
threatening me and my order.

I see you holding his hand,
confusing a he for a she.
Parading your lack of morals,
tolerating all but me.

I see you checking your mailbox,
walking fast for your check,
never lifting a finger,
leading this country into a wreck.

I see you coming for my guns,
my church and my family next,
you steal all that is good and Godly,
a don’t follow the sacred text.

I see you poor, dirty, and broken,
your eyes down, your hand out.
When will you get a clue, get a job,
and not laze about?

You don’t understand ‘Murica,
you’re not wanted here.
We’re white and better,
not dark or alien or queer.

You don’t understand ‘Murica,
we love only our own.
Equality and freedom,
for you we don’t condone.

You don’t understand ‘Murica,
we’re individual and free,
special and blessed,
look at me, me, me!

You don’t understand ‘Murica,
you’re not from around here,
you don’t look like me,
and I don’t want your kind near.

You don’t understand ‘Murica,
Heaven above protects us,
but, for you, we assume,
God doesn’t really fuss.

You don’t understand ‘Murica.

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