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You�re the cross-burning Klansmen of my mother�s day
Who charred Christ�s cross and cowardly crept away.
In stores, you wouldn�t bother
To serve my father�s father.
The same hatred your ancestors displayed with pride
You keep bottled up�festering deep inside.
Your potent prejudice is civil, I confess;
But your venomous vices hurt my heart no less.
My heritage is great
Because it taught me to wait
On the Lord, for He will be my guide.
Your weapons harm but do not halt the Christian love I have inside.