Sovereign countries are sandboxes
For Uncle Sam, as he loves to suck
The black stuff from beneath sand,
But don’t blame me, I’m just another
Pissed off dipshit bored out of his wits
Among so much sand, so I wander
Off base to puncture some ragheads.
Male, female, old, young or just born
All look about the same, even alive.
Maybe I’ll get on the cover of Esquire,
Like Lieutenant Calley, swarmed by gooks.
Biologically, we’re programmed to love
What’s most like us. I’m fond of my face,
And you don’t have a choice but to adore
Your ape demeanor. It’s how we’re made.
Genocide, then, is built into the equation,
For each of you I kill, there will be more
Of me, proportionally, in this sick world.
What to make of my President, then,
For as a Kenyan Socialist Liberal Messiah
Who can hoop, slow jam and weep on cue,
When not cracking joke about drones, he
Resembles no American we’ve ever known?
Personally, I don’t mind seeing that hue,
If it shuts up blacks and smart whites.
To keep oil gushing from bloody sand,
And steel boxes humming on asphalt,
They may even prop up a chick or spic.
Roaring, “Bye, bye, Miss American Pie,”
I’ll strafe weddings, funerals and baby showers,
Blast children from their first English lessons.