King George is dead in England, and the redcoats all went home
leaving free republics where the buffalo can roam.
But his ghost still walks in Washington, with wild and staring eyes
so they clutch their guns to ward him off and penetrate his lies.
The living George oppressed them, but the dead oppresses worse
for they never can escape him and they live beneath his curse:
they can never trust their government who turned against their lord
so they clutch their guns to ward him off before he draws his sword.
They dare speak against their masters, they have freedom of the press
they suffer not from soldiers, and their laws all have redress,
there are black and women voters, but still walks the ghostly George
so they clutch their guns against him, as they did at Valley Forge.
They are cursed with politicians as the bane of honest folk,
they are cursed with lying jackasses who cannot take a joke;
King George lies dead and far away, and all his redcoat host
still they clutch their guns against him, though a gun can’t hurt a ghost.
The ghostly George is laughing as he prowls the pillared streets
and he waves his sword and sceptre there and he curses all he meets
till the day will come to settle him, and then without a fuss,
your guns can stay beside you, and you’ll call your statesmen “us”.
18th November 2000.
