No Title
God dave the South.
Below the Mason Dixon,
To the Mississippi's mouth.
The Flag's hanging low on the fixin'.
Many a man in gray,
Tried to save her
From tyrants hands in that day,
But they didn't taste victories' sweet flavor.
The torch has been passed,
The dye set in place,
The mold has been cast,
Let's lok it in the face.
We won't tolerate the NAACP,
Or the black fist of supression.
Let's band together, you and me,
And fight, fight with aggression.
Fight for the 13 stars of the Southern Cross,
The Bonnie Blue with only one.
Montgomery being the birthing place
For the Confederacy that should have won.
Lets not wallow in pity or broken pride.
Stand up and put on a smile, my friend,
For as Beaureguarde said back a while,
"See that, the day is ours," in the end.