Literature
America lyrics rewrite
My country,' tis of thee,
Stronghold of industry, of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died,
Where men man's rights deride,
From every mountainside thy deeds shall ring!
...
My native country, thee,
Where rich men can lobby, and buy our laws;
they love thy hills and dales,
thy mounts and pleasant vales;
But hate thy lack of sales, as foulest sin.
Let wailing swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees every man's wrong;
Let every tongue awake;
Let paid and free partake;
Let rocks their silence break, the sound prolong.
Our father's Gods! to thee,
Authors of Liberty, to thee we sing;
Soon may our land be bright,
With holy