Subject: About this oath to the U.S.CONstitution
From: Gene Karl

About this oath to the U.S.CONstitution
I would like to add that since the U.S.CONstitution is found to be
in contempt of our God-Given Unalienable Rights, that an oath
to such document is actually an extra-judicial oath and is an
unLawful act committed in conspiracy against our Great Republics.

Extrajudicial oath. - One taken not in the course of judicial
proceedings, or taken without any authority of law, though taken
formally before a proper person. [Black's Law Dict. 5th Ed.]

sincerely,
gene karl

http://www.civilwarhome.com/pooroldrebel.htm
O, I'm a Good Old Rebel 

Note:

In the book Point Lookout Prison Camp for Confederates (page
101), Edwin Beitzell says, "According to Herbert Quick, who
printed an account of The Good Old Rebel in Colliers for April 14,
1914, its author was Major James Randolph, a Virginian and a
member of General J.E.B. Stuart's staff. Sung to the tune of Joe
Bowers, a favorite of the forty-niners, it traveled beyond the bounds
of the Confederacy. Edward VII, the Prince of Wales, heard it at a
reception in London and called it 'that fine American song with the
cuss words in it.'" 

O, I'm a good old Rebel,
Now that's just what I am,
For this "Fair Land of
Freedom"
I do not care at all; 

I'm glad I fit against it --
I only wish we'd won,
And I don't want no pardon
For anything I done. 

I hates the Constitution,
This Great Republic too,
I hates the Freedman's Buro,
In uniforms of blue; 

I hates the nasty eagle,
With all his brags and fuss,
The lyin', thievin' Yankees,
I hates 'em wuss and wuss. 

I hates the Yankee nation
And everything they do,
I hates the Declaration
Of Independence too; 

I hates the glorious Union --
'Tis dripping with our blood --
I hates their striped banner,
I fit it all I could. 

I followed old mass' Robert
For four year, near about,
Got wounded in three places
And starved at Pint Lookout; 

I cotch the rheumatism
A campin' in the snow,
But I killed a chance of
Yankees,
I'd like to kill some mo'. 

Three hundred thousand
Yankees
Is stiff in Southern dust;
We got three hundred thousand
Before they conquered us; 

They died of Southern fever
And Southern steel and shot,
I wish they was three million
Instead of what we got. 

I can't take up my musket
And fight 'em now no more,
But I ain't going to love 'em,
Now that is sarten sure; 

And I don't want no pardon
For what I was and am,
I won't be reconstructed
And I don't care a damn.