Washington has failed us, Hollywood obscene.
Churches gone complacent, the bankers are all thieves.
This wasn't the country we were left, we wouldn't leave this to our kids,
It'd fell asleep and leave this nation all but defenceless.
Most of [inaudible] stirred, that fateful Nov'mber morn,
When 45 was elected and the Deep State all got scorned.

With the sun in his face, and the wind to his back,
His powders be dry, his burdens be light,
May the Lord's face upon you always shine,
The Ballad of 45.

He came in guns a'blazin, to that God-forsaken town,
The Mockingbird Media swore to take him down.
But he led his posse through the swamp, and polished up his gun,
You could tell the Lord had laid His hand upon this Chosen One.
The enemy swears to this day, they still can't understand,
How they got their sorry asses handed right back to them.

With the sun in his face, and the wind to his back,
His powders be dry, his burdens be light,
May the Lord's face upon you always shine,
The Ballad of 45.

So activate the patriots, and read the Prophecy,
He must be re-elected, to keep this land free.
And all those little empties, they're pawns in the game,
They have their own handler, Satan is his name.
In the year 2020, people's voices shake the earth,
The time has come to clean this mess, Justice will be served.

With the sun in his face, and the wind to his back,
His powders be dry, his burdens be light,
May the Lord's face upon you always shine,
The Ballad of 45.