This little England, it's dingy and it's meannI've flirted with her mewling gods and petty jealousiesnHer edited-reader rebels with their simulated causesnTheir weak-chinned snarls and red guitarsnI disregard them allnnWhen they pin me to the wall, I'll saynI'm with AmericanWith godless America, I'll stand and I'll fallnThough it cuts me to my soul thatnit must be Americanit must be Americanor nothing at allnnThe popstars who write operas and make fatuous remarksnThe theory-quoting upstarts who snort fair-trade coke in parksnI find myself a loner and I find myself bereftnI find myself agreeing with Bill O'Reilly more than the leftnnWhen they pin me to the wall, I'll saynI'm with AmericanWith godless America, I'll stand and I'll fallnThough it cuts me to my soul thatnit must be Americanit must be Americanor nothing at all