Fake News

you see what he thinks is in those hands could be has been
in those hands those hands that reach out to pat
in front of Andrew Jackson patpat you see

the need when they shout you see the discolouration
of the air between them shout or shoot they like both
with equal dislike the trail of tears the codetalkers

the crowd the loud lewd crowd and crew in the sense
of crowed oh how they crew how crude they are
pussy my love my beautiful pee-green shove my hat

my red hat you see how all is pink and gold make it make it
great again the greatest generation they keep saying that
how many of the greatest came home and beat up black

and blue what's so damn great about racism even
one's soul is off centre now but see the wayward air
between them see the air like a car full of fumes

in a red barn a thrusting heaving gagged in an alleyway
left for dead swinging blackfaced at dawn for your children
to find your tongue that has snaked out across the land

the land which is not yours yes Pocahontas what a laugh
barely any DNA to show not thoroughbred like the thing
with hands that have grasped at all out of reach all

unwanted merely to defile no love no something else
do you feel the evil fucking in the air the air
you want fake news look there right there