| From San Francisco to Rhode Island
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| We hear an ached voice saying it’s our land
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| And we do thank you for your gift given
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| We take your highways, hack them to ribbons
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| Wad bits of ribbon, stuff them in our ears
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| Block out the voices calling you and me
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| Our voices, our cannons
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| We’ll shout it to the sky
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| Our voices will make this, will make this
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| Make this our land!
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| From Corpus Christi to North Dakota
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| Good people chanted that it’s all over
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| With broken ribbons, we filled the valleys
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| Because they’re endless we soak up the Gulfstream
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| Grab ribbon highways into our cannons
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| We aim and fire, engulf our sky
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| Our voices, our cannons
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| We’ll shout 'em to the sky
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| Our voices, will make this, will make this
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| Make this our land!
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| Make this our land!
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| We make this our land!
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| Just as they told us
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| There’s one more river
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| You’re doing more after New York City
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| Yes, New York City
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| There is a steeple
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| Shadowed with people
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| No endless skyways
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| No redwood forests
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| No golden valleys
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| This land is for us
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| Our voices, our cannons
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| We’ll shout them to the sky
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| Our voices, we’ll make this
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| We’ll make this, make this our land
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| Make this our land! |