| Now that your big eyes have finally opened | 
| Now that you’re wondering how must they feel | 
| Meaning them that you’ve chased across | 
| America’s movie screens | 
| Now that you’re wondering how can it be real | 
| That the ones you’ve called colorful, noble and proud | 
| In your school propaganda, they starve in their splendor | 
| You’ve asked for my comment, I simply will render | 
| My country 'tis of thy people you’re dying | 
| Now that the long houses breed superstition | 
| You force us to send our toddlers away | 
| To your schools where they’re taught | 
| To despise their traditions | 
| You forbid them their languages, then further say | 
| That American history really began | 
| When Columbus set sail out of Europe | 
| Then stress that the nation of leeches that conquered this land | 
| Are the biggest and bravest and boldest and best | 
| And yet where in your history books is the tale | 
| Of the genocide basic to this country’s birth | 
| Of the preachers who lied, how the Bill of Rights failed | 
| How a nation of patriots returned to their earth | 
| And where will it tell of the Liberty Bell | 
| As it rang with a thud o’er Kinzua mud | 
| And of brave Uncle Sam in Alaska this year | 
| My country 'tis of thy people you’re dying | 
| Hear how the bargain was made for the West | 
| With her shivering children in zero degrees | 
| Blankets for your land, so the treaties attest | 
| Oh well, blankets for land is a bargain indeed | 
| And the blankets were those Uncle Sam had collected | 
| From smallpox-diseased dying soldiers that day | 
| And the tribes were wiped out and the history books censored | 
| A hundred years of your statesmen have felt | 
| It’s better this way | 
| And yet a few of the conquered have somehow survived | 
| Their blood runs the redder though genes have paled | 
| From the Gran Canyon’s caverns to craven sad hills | 
| The wounded, the losers, the robbed sing their tale | 
| From Los Angeles County to upstate New York | 
| The white nation fattens while others grow lean | 
| Oh the tricked and evicted they know what I mean | 
| My country 'tis of thy people you’re dying | 
| The past it just crumbled, the future just threatens | 
| Our life blood shut up in your chemical tanks | 
| And now here you come, bill of sale in your hands | 
| And surprise in your eyes that we’re lacking in thanks | 
| For the blessings of civilization you’ve brought us | 
| The lessons you’ve taught us, the ruin you’ve wrought us | 
| Oh see what our trust in America’s brought us | 
| My country 'tis of thy people you’re dying | 
| Now that the pride of the sires receives charity | 
| Now that we’re harmless and safe behind laws | 
| Now that my life’s to be known as your 'Heritage' | 
| Now that even the graves have been robbed | 
| Now that our own chosen way is a novelty | 
| Hands on our hearts we salute you your victory | 
| Choke on your blue white and scarlet hypocrisy | 
| Pitying the blindness that you’ve never seen | 
| That the eagles of war whose wings lent you glory | 
| They were never no more than carrion crows | 
| Pushed the wrens from their nest | 
| Stole their eggs, changed their story | 
| The mockingbird sings it, it’s all that he knows | 
| «Ah, what can I do?», say a powerless few | 
| With a lump in your throat and a tear in your eye | 
| Can’t you see that their poverty’s profiting you? | 
| My country 'tis of thy people you’re dying |