The butterflies can no longer go home.
We have destroyed the grounds on which they nest.
And if this little butterfly can’t roam
Then how can we as a country be blessed?

We pimp liberty like she is a whore.
Racism, hatred and greed defile her face.
If in the face of dreams we slam her door
Then on what basis will God bless this place?

When children can be snatched up from their homes,
And told unto this land they don’t belong;
When butterflies can find no place to roam,
Ill fares the land and sad will be the song.

So we say to this little girl fly high!
And let your lovely smile serve as your guide.
The dream inside your heart will never die,
And we thank God He’s placed us on your side.