 | The collected works of Ambrose Bierce |  |
201
A RATIONAL ANTHEM
My country, 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of felony,
Of thee I sing—
Land where my fathers fried
Young witches and applied
Whips to the Quaker's hide
And made him spring.
Sweet land of felony,
Of thee I sing—
Land where my fathers fried
Young witches and applied
Whips to the Quaker's hide
And made him spring.
My knavish country, thee,
Land where the thief is free,
Thy laws I love;
I love thy thieving bills
That tap the people's tills;
I love thy mob whose will's
All laws above.
Land where the thief is free,
Thy laws I love;
I love thy thieving bills
That tap the people's tills;
I love thy mob whose will's
All laws above.
Let Federal employees
And rings rob all they please,
The whole year long.
Let office-holders make
Their piles and judges rake
Our coin. For Jesus' sake,
Let's all go wrong!
And rings rob all they please,
The whole year long.
Let office-holders make
Their piles and judges rake
Our coin. For Jesus' sake,
Let's all go wrong!
| The collected works of Ambrose Bierce | |