My District, ’tis of Thee

My District, ’tis of thee
Land without liberty.
Of thee I sing.
Where nation’s game is played.
Where income tax is paid,
Yet when all’s done and said
Freedom can’t ring.

Land of the Congress folk.
Citizenship’s a joke.
As it we fling.
We scorn our shackled right.
We mean some day to fight
With all our main and might.
And suffrage bring.

Why should the District be
Black sheep in land of free.
Her spirit galled?
We send our sons to die.
Heed the republic’s cry.
With all our patriots vie.
Whene’er we’re called.

Nation, at large, to you
We raise our cry and hue.
Hear our fair pleas.
Tax without voice or vote
Sure’s got our noble goat
See rank injustice smote—
End tyranny!