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 c__e 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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