At The Break of Day

Washita in the morn, is the Dhimmi awake?
Gray and bearded, thinking about a lie to make.
Evil thoughts begin so early in the morn,
Thoughts of an evil man whose face is never shorn.

The Dhimmi is here again; all his evil lies.
Listen to his lying words as a stuck pig cries,
Calling out for pity and help so far away,
In Washita, podunkville at the break of day.

Liar, liar Dhimmi has lied again in June,
While all his fellow libs were howling at the moon,
Like a bunch of spittle drops rising in the mist;
Of lies and smears are the words for the liars grist.

Liar, liar Dhimmi is lying as of old
With eyes of crimson red and hair of graying mould;
For the Dhimmi lies again in his normal way
In Washita, podunkville at the break of day.

Lies are in his every thought as they come from hell,
Evil stench and rotten death: things he cannot tell.
Lies are in his every thought, hatred in his eyes,
And Satan is awaitin’ still and not up in the skies.

Look! Hate has reached into his heart so deep,
Satan is awaitin’ still: How can Dhimmi sleep?
In the town of Washita, a liar still finds a way.
In Washita, podunkville at the break of day.

Oh, Dhimmi, Oh Dhimmi there is no liar’s gold,
Stop the lies this instant, stop the growing mould.
Stop the evil hatred, repent of things you’ve said,
Or Satan will be waiting when you’re gone and dead.

Satan and his demons are riding down for you
With pitch fork and a cape of crimson hue.
Nothing will stop your soul from getting blown away,
In Washita, podunkville at the break of day.