History Is The Story Of The Winners And That Is The Side That God Is On

by Grayson Harper

And Columbus made gold miners
of the New World Indians
and cut off their hands
when they came up empty.
All in the name of the Holy Trinity.
Then he turned them into slaves
and shipped them home via
Federal Express in the early days of
Walmart and Pier I Imports.

And Jesus came down the chimney
and Santa Claus died on the cross;
It's so nice to have an enemy
and someone we can boss.

Then the slavers in America
said it was all right with God
but go easy on the whip.
Dawn comes early
and the cotton looks like clouds
over the kingdom of earth.

It's a jubilant little history
when you dress it all up,
a dainty nursery rhyme
at the bottom of your cup.

The witchhunts and the slave hunts,
night riders with Old Testaments
in their saddlebags;
burnings and lynchings,
holy wars and good ol' boy wars
when God delivered up
the losers to the winners.

Then Jesus slithered down the chimney
and sidewined into the future
while Saint Nick signed off on the cross.

It's a pesky little pantomime
when you pull it all apart,
a frisky little friend o' mine
with a brand new apple cart.

He was for the poor and weak
but soon after resurrection
was seen
schlepping on the side
with the best ammunition.

It's a dainty little folktale
when you spread it on the ground,
a dandy little school yarn
when you spank it all around.

And the Lord Our God turned Himself
into a Hotchkiss rapid-fire gun
in the winter of 1899
slaughtering 200 unarmed
men, women and children
to put an end to the Ghost Dance religion
and the sun dancers; still later,
He morphed into a .50-caliber machine gun,
and Budha's bullets were no better
than the Great Spirit's had been;
they were no match for God's bullets.

Now Jesus and the Jolly Elf
have joined hands; they are
one and the same, indivisible,
under God, they sitteth on either side.
Santa's in charge of charge cards
and Family Values,
Jesus is Secretary of the Navy,
And God is Chairman of the Board
of MacDonald's (we're told
he likes his meat a little bloody.)
Their minions are multiplying,
Their truth is marching on.

Wake the dead.