I am American. You know me.
I am American.
You know me.
We used to spend a lot more time together when you were younger. I lived on your block. Back then, it didn’t matter if I was white or not.
Now that you have aged some, you seem to have moved on to other friends. More refined ones who see me as cheap or not good enough for you.
You no longer want to be seen with me at lunch.
You won’t even have me in your house.
I know sometimes, maybe late at night when you are desperate for an old friend, you’ll think of me.
Wishing I were around. Wanting to share a toast to warmer memories. Less grating times. Those good old days of hamming it up with me.
I was there for you. I was a comfort to you. And I never gave up on you. Even after getting grilled by your mom.
What has this world come to?
Is this how we treat those we once loved?
Is this what we’re bringing to the table now?
Anyway you slice it, you just don’t seem to even want to admit I am real!
I’m still here. I’m still around. I’m still American.
I know you see me sometimes. Maybe when you’re buying milk or butter or bread for who knows what.
You may have moved on to whatever hunk of the month, while I’m wrapped up with the singles, but I don’t deserve to be left here in the cold.
Call me what you will, but I know what I am…
I am real.
I am American
I am cheese.
