America
๐ต 4428 characters
โฑ๏ธ 4:51 duration
๐ ID: 31444605
๐ Lyrics
America
America I've given you all and now I'm nothing
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents
January 17, 1956
I can't stand my own mind
America when will we end the human war
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good
Don't bother me
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind
America when will you be angelic
When will you take off your clothes
When will you look at yourself through the grave
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites
America why are your libraries full of tears
America when will you send your eggs to India
I'm sick of your insane demands
When can I go into the supermarket
And buy what I need with my good looks
America after all it is you and I who are perfect
Not the next world
Your machinery is too much for me
You made me want to be a saint
There must be some other way to settle this argument
Burroughs is in Tangiers
I don't think he'll come back
It's sinister
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke
I'm trying to come to the point
I refuse to give up my obsession
America stop pushing
I know what I'm doing
America the plum blossoms are falling
I haven't read the newspapers for months
Every day somebody goes on trial for murder
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid
I'm not sorry
I smoke marijuana every chance I get
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet
Whenever I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid
My mind is made up
There's going to be trouble
You should have seen me reading Marx
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations
America I still haven't told you what you did
To Uncle Max after he came over from Russia
I'm addressing you
Are you going to let your emotional life be run by Time magazine
I'm obsessed by Time magazine
I read it every week
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candy store
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library
It's always telling me about responsibility
Businessmen are serious
Movie producers are serious
Everybody's serious but me
It occurs to me that I am America
I am talking to myself again
Asia is rising against me
I haven't got a Chinaman's chance
I better consider my national resources
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana
Millions of genitals
An unpublishable private literature that goes fourteen hundred m-p-h
And twenty-five thousand mental institutions
I say nothing about my prisons
Nor the millions of underprivileged who live in my
Flower pots under the light of five hundred suns
I have already abolished the whorehouses of France
Tangiers are the next to go
My ambition is to be president despite the fact that I'm a Catholic
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood
I will continue
Like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his automobiles
More so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes twenty-five hundred apiece
Five hundred down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco and Vanzetti must not die
I am the Scottsboro Boys
America when I was seven mama took me to communist cell meetings
They sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket
A ticket cost a nickel and the speeches were free
Everybody was angelic and sentimental about the workers
It was all so sincere you have no idea
What a good thing the party was in 1835
Scott Nearing was a grand old man
A real mensch
Mother Blur made me cry
I once saw Israel Amster playing
Everybody must have been a spy
America you don't really want to go to war
America it's them bad Russians
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen and them Russians
The Russia wants to eat us alive
The Russia's powermad
She wants to take our cars from out our garages
Her wants to grab Chicago
Her needs Red Reader's Digesteses
Her wants are auto plants in Siberia
Him big bureaucracy running our filling stations
That no good
Ugh
Him make Indians learn read
Him need big black niggers
Aaahhh
Her make us all work sixteen hours a day
Help
America this is quite serious
America this is the impression I get from looking in a television set
America is this correct
I'd better get right down to the job
It's true I don't want to join the army or
Turn lathes in precision parts factories
I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel
America I've given you all and now I'm nothing
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents
January 17, 1956
I can't stand my own mind
America when will we end the human war
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good
Don't bother me
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind
America when will you be angelic
When will you take off your clothes
When will you look at yourself through the grave
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites
America why are your libraries full of tears
America when will you send your eggs to India
I'm sick of your insane demands
When can I go into the supermarket
And buy what I need with my good looks
America after all it is you and I who are perfect
Not the next world
Your machinery is too much for me
You made me want to be a saint
There must be some other way to settle this argument
Burroughs is in Tangiers
I don't think he'll come back
It's sinister
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke
I'm trying to come to the point
I refuse to give up my obsession
America stop pushing
I know what I'm doing
America the plum blossoms are falling
I haven't read the newspapers for months
Every day somebody goes on trial for murder
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid
I'm not sorry
I smoke marijuana every chance I get
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet
Whenever I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid
My mind is made up
There's going to be trouble
You should have seen me reading Marx
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations
America I still haven't told you what you did
To Uncle Max after he came over from Russia
I'm addressing you
Are you going to let your emotional life be run by Time magazine
I'm obsessed by Time magazine
I read it every week
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candy store
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library
It's always telling me about responsibility
Businessmen are serious
Movie producers are serious
Everybody's serious but me
It occurs to me that I am America
I am talking to myself again
Asia is rising against me
I haven't got a Chinaman's chance
I better consider my national resources
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana
Millions of genitals
An unpublishable private literature that goes fourteen hundred m-p-h
And twenty-five thousand mental institutions
I say nothing about my prisons
Nor the millions of underprivileged who live in my
Flower pots under the light of five hundred suns
I have already abolished the whorehouses of France
Tangiers are the next to go
My ambition is to be president despite the fact that I'm a Catholic
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood
I will continue
Like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his automobiles
More so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes twenty-five hundred apiece
Five hundred down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco and Vanzetti must not die
I am the Scottsboro Boys
America when I was seven mama took me to communist cell meetings
They sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket
A ticket cost a nickel and the speeches were free
Everybody was angelic and sentimental about the workers
It was all so sincere you have no idea
What a good thing the party was in 1835
Scott Nearing was a grand old man
A real mensch
Mother Blur made me cry
I once saw Israel Amster playing
Everybody must have been a spy
America you don't really want to go to war
America it's them bad Russians
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen and them Russians
The Russia wants to eat us alive
The Russia's powermad
She wants to take our cars from out our garages
Her wants to grab Chicago
Her needs Red Reader's Digesteses
Her wants are auto plants in Siberia
Him big bureaucracy running our filling stations
That no good
Ugh
Him make Indians learn read
Him need big black niggers
Aaahhh
Her make us all work sixteen hours a day
Help
America this is quite serious
America this is the impression I get from looking in a television set
America is this correct
I'd better get right down to the job
It's true I don't want to join the army or
Turn lathes in precision parts factories
I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel