FEMAcide

First, let 'em drown and let 'em starve
And let 'em fry in the sun
We'll get there late and close the gate
And say "Good job, well done."

And if some lucky few survive
We'll put 'em up in shacks
We'll choke 'em all with fumes and mold
And watch each other's backs

And when at last the last one's dead
We'll just pick up and go
Some place our skills are in demand
—like Guantanamo.