| C | Am | G | |
| Here's to the | state of Richard | Nixon |
| C | Bb | |
| For | underneath his borders the | devil draws no line |
| C | Bb | |
| If you | drag his muddy rivers nameless | bodies you will find |
| C | Bb | |
| And the | fat trees of the forest have | hid a thousand crimes |
| C | Am | Em | G | |
| And the | calendar is | lyin' when it | reads the present | time |
| C | Am | F | C | |
| Oh, | here's to the | land you've | torn out the | heart of |
| C | Am | G | C | |
| Richard Nixon, find you | rself another coun | try to be | part of |
| And here's to the schools Richard Nixon |
| Where they're teachin' all the children that they don't have to care |
| All the rudiments of hatred are present everywhere |
| And every single classroom is a factory of despair |
| And there's nobody learnin' such a foreign word as fair |
| Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of |
| Richard Nixon, find yourself another country to be part of |
| And here's to the laws Richard Nixon |
| Where the wars are fought in secret, Pearl Harbor everyday |
| He punishes with income tax that he don't have to pay |
| And he's tapping his own brother just to hear what he would say |
| But corruption can be classic in the Richard Nixon way |
| Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of |
| Richard Nixon, find yourself another country to be part of |
| And here's to the churches Richard Nixon and Billy Graham |
| Where the cross, once made of silver, now is caked with rust |
| And the Sunday morning sermons pander to their lust |
| All the fallen face of Jesus is chokin' in the dust |
| And Heaven only knows in which God they can trust |
| Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of |
| Richard Nixon, find yourself another country to be part of |
| And here's to the government Richard Nixon |
| In the swamp of their bureaucracy their always boggin' down |
| And criminals are posing as advisors to the crown |
| And they hope that no one sees the sights and no one hears the sound |
| And the speeches of the President are the ravings of a clown |
| Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of |
| Richard Nixon find yourself another country to be part of |