Dedicated to Jeff Sessions.


HERE'S TO THE STATE OF MISSISSIPPI
   -Phil Ochs

Here's to the state of Mississippi,
For underneath her borders, the devil draws no line.
If you drag her muddy rivers, nameless bodies you will find.
Oh, the fat trees of the forest have hid a thousand crimes.
The calendar is lying when it reads the present time.

CH: Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of.
Mississippi, find yourself another country to be part of!

And here's to the people of Mississippi,
Who say the folks up north, they just don't understand,
And they tremble in the shadows at the thunder of the Klan.
Oh, the sweating of their souls can't wash the blood from off their hands,
For they smile and shrug their shoulders at the murder of a man.

And here's to the schools of Mississippi,
Where they're teaching all the children that they don't have to care.
All of rudiments of hatred are present everywhere,
And every single classroom is a factory of despair,
And there's nobody learning such a foreign word as fair.

And here's to the cops of Mississippi.
They're chewing their tobacco as they lock the prison door,
And their bellies bounce inside them when they knock you to the floor.
No, they don't like taking prisoners in their private little war,
And behind their broken badges there are murderers and more.

And here's to the judges of Mississippi,
Who wear the robe of honor as they crawl into the court.
They're guarding all the bastions of their phony legal fort.
Oh, justice is a stranger when the prisoners report.
When the black man stands accused, the trial is always short.

And here's to the government of Mississippi.
In the swamp of their bureaucracy they're always bogging down,
And criminals are posing as the mayors of the towns,
And they hope that no one sees the sights and no one hears the sounds,
And the speeches of the governor are the ravings of a clown.

And here's to the laws of Mississippi.
Congressmen will gather in a circus of delay.
While the Constitution's drowning in an ocean of decay.
Unwed mothers should be sterilized, I've even heard them say.
Yes, corruption can be classic in the Mississippi way.

8. And here's to the churches of Mississippi,
Where the cross, once made of silver, now is caked with rust,
And the Sunday morning sermons pander to their lust.
Oh, the fallen face of Jesus is choking in the dust,
And heaven only knows in which God they can trust.