“We’ve tears still to be cried at night; we’ve hands still to be wrung;

The pain is now and ever for the grieving of our young

Your talk of “thoughts and prayers” sticks like bile on our tongue.”

As every white boy redneck in a truck or on a farm

Brandishes a metal penis nary care nor qualm

And bellows his assertion on his right to carry arms.

“Try not to be so selfish making out you’re so unique;

There’ll be a dozen more or so for you to grieve next week;

It isn’t for the children but it’s for The Gun we speak”

“Perhaps if every teacher in each class could wear a gun

Or maybe if each child could take to school his daddy’s gun”

Does nothing make you think that you’re addicted to The Gun?