Sing, not fling, nor sling

I hear America flinging:

Fling, fling, fling;

sling, sling, sling,

Fling it high, sling it low.

Sling it muddly just for show.

Mud, mud, sling up some mud.

Fling it with a thud.

Sling it like a scud.

Fling it left, sling it right,

sling it ’til you fight.

It aint right; it’s a muddy blight.

Maybe I’ll take flight,

but where to go? Mexico?

Don’t know.

See Jane go, see Dick go:

Go, Jane, go to your MSNB show;

Go, Dick, go to your Fox hole row.

Toe that party line.

Tote that picket sign.

Tow that barge; tote that bale.

Drag it ’til we fail.

Yell and scream and shout

’til the buzzards come winging out.

Rant ’til  buzzwords turn their trend,

their fuzzy butts toward our bitter end.


I hear Jesus’ people singing.

Sing, sing, sing;

Let our praises ring,

bringing in God’s created thing.

Fill us, Lord,  while we sing.

We need not fling, need not sling.

We just sing; let our praises ring,

’til your kingdom you do bring.


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