Hear me, great Sydney of Paradise Creek Regional High-school,
I weep for Nixon, my friend.
Bitterly moaning like a woman mourning
I weep for my President.
Oh Nixon my president,
You were my napalm, and my break ins,
The shield to cover up my lies,
A glorious President, my fairest one;
An evil group of commies has robbed me.
The wild Southern Vietnamese civilians,
The young American soldiers,
That were brothers in arms,
All the Americans that supported you,
Weep for you.
All the defoliated jungles of Vietnam,
The Ho Chi Minh Trail,
The artillery flare illuminated nights and scorchingly hot and humid days,
Let the American people,
Weep for you;
Let the finger of the founding fathers
Be stretched out in mourning;
Nixon, my president. Hear me,
There is an echo throughout ‘murrica.
Like the sound of a gavel during your impeachment.
Burn all the paths we fought over in Vietnam,
and all the enemies we hunted, the Viet Cong, the dirty commies,
hippies, conscientious objectors, and peace protestors.
The rivers of Napalm we used to make
Burn for you.