Mr. Comboverman

Hey Mr. Comboverman

With your outstretched right hand.

Standing up there on the bandstand.

Sparking the fire,

Your breed of hate demands.

I’m sorry to throw a wrench,

In your plans.

But the people will not stand,

By your demands.

Demands of separation and segregation.

While you stand,

A nation divides in the sand.

The “Moral Majority” with their guns,

And their racist puns.

Trying to take away all the fun and,

All the freedom.

Build a wall below us.

May aswell kill them all,

So your true selves will be shown.

All covers will be blown.

The people then will see,

What some have known all along.

They shall come together and as one,

They shall be strong.

And on that fateful day,

When the  results are displayed.

We will all see the true colors,

Of triumph or dismay.