Everyone Fall In Line

My country, 'tis of Thee,
But it’s not a Land of Liberty
Of thee I sing of sorrows;
Land where the fathers, of the red man died
Our land that the pilgrims' destroyed,
From every mountain side.

And let the world know, they did bring.
My native country, thee,
Our stolen land has been set free to thee,
But they claim, it’s love;
They love no one, not even themselves,
Which continues to this day, like a bat out of hell;
Our hearts are pained and we seek guidance,
From the one above.

The music of debauchery is heard through the breeze,
And the screams of the raping of our women as they’re on their knees
But, they claim it’s freedom's song;

Their mortal forked-tongues awake;
And continue to breathe lies and take;
Everything they see and want our silence not to break,
The sound continues of killing.

God is everyone’s Father, not just to Thee,
Today there is no liberty,
To Thee we cannot sing.
May our land, one day be returned, and make us bright,
With freedom's holy light,
Protect us by Thy might,
God you are our true and only King.

The previous lyrics were adjusted by my son to reflect the truth concerning history,

And the U.S. continues to be shrouded (covered-up) is a mystery.

What’s hid in darkness, the light will shine to make it bright,

Also, it will begin the cleansing, to make it alright.

America, you’re not the only country who are covered in lies,

Most of the planet’s history is distorted, how time, it does fly.

Everything is going to be “A-Okay”,

I’ve finally cut my son loose, and we both are gonna play.

We’re about to play me and my sons’ favorite game,

It’s called, “What’s My Name?”

Alvin Mann, aka Mini-Me, aka my knucklehead son,

And I, have only just begun.

So, you all here in these parts of the woods, stand by,

My son and I are going to make time fly.

I will start with the United States,

After I’m done, Mini-Me will do the clean-up and make no mistake,

This thing that my son and I are doing, isn’t going to happen overnite,

Once completed, we’ll make what was wrong and turn it right.

Whatever you do, it’s best to leave the Marlboro Man,

My son was right, (for a change) he belongs in a trashcan.

I (God, that is) will begin taking out the trash,

If no one wants to be included, don’t be last.

I’ve already begun,

Listen to the beating of the drums,

It’s all around,

A tremendous sound.

You’re running out of time,

Everyone Fall In Line.

Your Father

God

Featuring, my guest writer: Mini-Me, he’s My Lightning Rod