Phil Ochs – Heres To The State Of Mississippi (Guitar)

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for underneath her borders, the devil draws no lines.

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If you drag her muddy rivers, nameless bodies you will find.

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whoa, the fat trees of the forest have hid a thousand crimes,

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the calender is lyin' when it reads the present time.

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Whoa, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of,

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Mississippi, find yourself another country to be part of!

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And here's to the people of Mississippi,

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who say the folks up north, they just don't understand.

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And they tremble in their shadows at the thunder of the Klan,

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the sweating of their souls can't wash the blood from off their hands,

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they smile and shrug their shoulders at the murder of a man.

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Whoa, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of,

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Mississippi, find yourself another country to be part of!

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And here's to the schools of Mississippi,

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where they're teaching all the children that they don't have to care,

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all the rudiments of hatred are present everywhere,

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and every single classroom is a factory of despair,

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and there's nobody learning such a foreign word as “fair”.

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Whoa, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of,

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Mississippi, find yourself another country to be part of!

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And here's to the cops of Mississippi,

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they're chewing their tobacco as they lock the prison door,

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their bellies bounce inside them when they knock you to the floor,

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no, they don't like taking prisoners in their private little war,

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and behind their broken badges there are murderers and more.

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Whoa, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of,

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Mississippi, find yourself another country to be part of!

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And, here's to the judges of Mississippi,

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who wear the robe of honor as they crawl into the court,

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they're guarding all the bastions of their phony legal fort,

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oh, justice is a stranger when the prisoners report,

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when the black man stands accused the trial is always short.

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Whoa, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of,

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Mississippi, find yourself another country to be part of!

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And here's to the government of Mississippi,

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in the swamp of their bureaucracy they're always bogging down,

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and criminals are posing as the mayors of the towns,

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and they hope that no one sees the sights,

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and no one hears the sounds,

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and the speeches of the governor are the ravings of a clown.

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Whoa, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of,

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Mississippi, find yourself another country to be part of!

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And here's to the laws of Mississippi,

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Congressmen will gather in a circus of delay,

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while the Constitution’s drowning in an ocean of decay,

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unwed mothers should be sterilized, I've even heard them say,

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yes, corruption can be classic in the Mississippi way.

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Whoa, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of,

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Mississippi, find yourself another country to be part of!

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And here's to the churches of Mississippi,

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where the cross, once made of silver, now is caked with rust,

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and the Sunday morning sermons pander to their lust,

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the fallen face of Jesus is choking in the dust,

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and heaven only knows in which God they can trust.

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Whoa, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of,

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Mississippi, find yourself another country to be part of!