The Courtesy of Red, White and Blue Girls (Angry American) (Toby Keith)

Language: Russian

Interesting things happen when you do web searches for pictures of Toby Keith. Or at least you get interesting results, sometimes. The ickiest pages come up. I had one hit for a page that said it was written by a former KKK head and professional wrestler. One page seemed to be entirely about immigration and how Mexicans in particular were defective and lazy and short (?) and oversexed and etc., and the U.S. should do anything in its power to keep them the hell away from us. Just, gross sentiments, spoken by people who I'm sure fall a bit short of the straight-backed, high-cheekboned, blond & blue Aryan ideal themselves. (Not that the sentiments wouldn't still be disgusting if they were made by beautiful 20-year old Teutonic athletes, just less overtly ridiculous.)

Now, this is obviously not Toby Keith's fault. There's nothing in the original lyrics of this song that says that we should go kill a bunch of Mexicans. Even so, you'd think that having this sort of fan base would make any decent, moral person stop and think, gosh, what is it about my song that's attracting assholes?

The song is kind of a mishmash of symbols, angry gestures, and revenge fantasies. Apparently, the story is that it was written in 2001, following the death of Keith's father (in March) and the World Trade Center attacks (in September), and he had not intended the song to be released publicly. My suspicion is that maybe he hadn't originally intended to release the song because he knew it wasn't very good. But of course, "not very good" is what sells in Top 40 Country these days, so out on the radio it went, and the rest is history. I have to wonder, though, if there's ever been any second-thoughts about it.

Probably not. This is America, after all, "the good place of ass reasoning."

-Jessi

Photo of Toby Keith (c) Robert Deutsch of USA Today.

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American guys
will gush; it always stands upward,
and the good out-salute themselves.
He always learns when we see
the flag of the U.S.A set there, flying of glory.
We are people of corpses; therefore we can sleep:
in the world, on the night,
of our heads, when we lay down.

My dad served the army; in it,
he lost its right eye. Where
is the flag? Not outside in our yard. But to fly it
to the day he died,
he wanted my mother, my brother, my sister and me
in the earth. Grow up freely and live happily.

I love it now. This nation fell downward
and attacked a sucker, which is mighty. Punch arrived.
Flyin' from somewhere inside the tail end,
soon we could see the eyes clearly
through our large black man.
We illuminated your peace. Ya-oye! July went upward.

Hey: Sam's uncle
placed your list above his own name.
The liberty of statues, and
his fist, began shakin'.
Hell, man: your flies are gonna
start ringin', and when you hear of "eagle freedom,"
then bell the mother.
They feel the peace of rain as they go wide on you, and its whole
courtesy: they brought you downward to red and white.

Justice will be served blue,
and the battle rages.
These large wars dog it
when you tap. It's your cell
that you messed with, and you'll regret the U.S.A.,
the good place of ass reasoning. A boot into your
American road, of your . . .

Hey: Sam's uncle
placed your list above his own name.
The liberty of statues, and
his fist, began shakin'.
Hell, man: your flies are gonna
start ringin', and when you hear of "eagle freedom,"
then bell the mother.
They feel the peace of rain as they go wide on you, and its whole
courtesy: they brought you downward to red and white.