My Country Tis of Thee
Christmas is of Santa Claus;
On Easter the rabbit lays an egg.
God is kept locked in a box;
In the basement of a yegg.
Freedom sits tied up in a yard;
Over grown by grass;
Only let off from the rope;
When agreed to by the mass.
Power of the people;
Hides behind a closet door;
Along with other memories,;
Of life that is no more.
Tranquility is lost to us;
We sold it in the end;
To the highest bidder;
For cash that we could spend.
Unity appears to be;
Buried underground;
Covered up by structures;
We've built up all around.
America the beautiful;
The profiteers delight;
It is all for sale;
We're open day or night.
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