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This song is by Terry Allen and appears on the album Bloodlines (1983).

Ourland is my land
Her history is calling me
From the shoes of another land
To ourland across the sea
Well I fancy a bomb inside my head
Ticking for the men
And Iæ£l put it in a little cafe
And blow æ ¹m to hell again
An I fancy a pistol in my coat
Loaded for the kill
And weæ£l gun the ones who run outside
I swear by god we will

An I fancy a knife inside my pants
Bone handled razor sharp
An weæ£l run ones that survive the blast
And cut them in the dark
An I fancy my hands behind the wheel
An their wounded aæ£aying down
And weæ£l punch the gas and run it fast
An grind them in the ground

An I fancy their widows under me
Squealin with delight
So we'll have our fun then when weæ®e done
We'll garrote them in the night
An we fancy their children a crying then
But we will pat their heads
And sing them to sleep with a firemanæ¯ song
Then burn them in their beds
Chorus repeats