It’s a fine art, lying about everything,
A fusion of saying whatever comes to mind
That’s convenient, hurtful, obnoxious and fun.
You need to sound high-minded when you appeal
To peoples’ basest instincts. You’re defending them
From change, from losing their privileges
Based on race, pedigree or pure spite.
It’s not just magical thinking that helps,
Though give me a dash of that with all the rest.
If your hate agrees with what the people hate,
That’s a kind of truth. But I don’t just make things up.
I have seances with tyrants from the past.
Ten million killed and we want you in the club.
Dead Tyrants still have wonderful ideas
About inflicting pain and ruling by fear.
For a kind word about their strength and fame
They’re glad to help should wicked thoughts run low.
The evil dead still think that they were right:
People will believe incredible things
If the story lines up with all they loathe.
You can say anything against a neighbor
If someone’s looking for a reason to despise
Differences. No longer mind your business
Is the motto, but what’s good for you is bad
For me. Old ways are good ways and good folk
Demand a right to hate. Don’t forget
The entertainment factor too: Space lasers
Affecting software tabulation,
Political enemies trafficking kids
Out of pizza parlors, schools changing the sex
Of kids behind their parents’ backs, immigrants
From insane asylums or the Congo
Hustling to murder girls just walking home,
And Haitians eating everyone’s cats and dogs.
But say, didn’t my dad look great in his racist robes?
They knew how to display themselves back then.
People enjoy my show and return for the hate.
It’s as American as cherry pie.
I am my own truth, the best that ever was.
Nothing even comes close to what I am.