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It was the eighth day of December In nineteen eighty-four. A full moon witnessed to the deed On the nation's western shore. Bob Mathews made his final stand, He vowed he'd run no more. He loaded his gun and spit in the eye Of the jews and their federal whore. The blood of Leonidas, Of Custer and Stonewall, too, Ran strong in the veins of this White man, To their memory he was true. Two weeks before in Portland town, They'd tried to lay a snare, Thirty-five of the federal dogs, Bob Mathews whipped them there. So, they rounded up an army, Of maggots and faggots and reds, Race traitors and cowards and jackals, And other kinds of feds. The jews had given the orders, Race traitors would obey, By hundreds they came to murder The greatest White man of his day. They brought helicopter gunships, And their army did deploy. They thought they'd break the spirit Of this fearless rebel boy. But even as they poured their fire Through barricaded doors, His bullets whistled by the heads, Of treasonous federal whores. The gunships felt his bullets first And quickly flew away. For thirty-six hours, a day and a half, He held the dogs at bay. With tear gas next, they filled the house Twice broke inside the doors, But rapid fire soon drove out The devil's federal whores. They knew they'd met their match, So they set the house on fire. And soon the flames touched the sky, A Viking funeral pyre. White brother, how I miss you, Who can take your place, As leader of the army That fights to save our race? As you march through fair Valhalla, Asgard's mighty hall, Number one among the Vikings, I can hear you call: Arise, you Aryan Warriors, I've shown you how to fight! You owe it to my children To battle for the right.