No you may not have my country,
‘Til you’ve pulled it from under my skin,
‘Til you’ve drained all my blood, from my veins and my heart,
And strained it from cells therein.
You can cackle that you are the victor;
Though the people know this is a lie.
And those do not are the zits on your back,
We’ll just pop them until they ooze dry.
No you may not have our country.
For we have journeyed too far,
To turn it all ‘round, run the ship to the ground,
And trek back to wherever you are;
Stuck in the past
Stuck in your hate.
You ain’t gonna last,
We already great.
So no you may not have our country,
You embittered, old, spent cigarette.
You’re all chewed on the end, ya got ashes for friends.
Like an ashtray, you live off regret.