There are several different versions of the Yankee Go Home argument afoot in Iraq.
Version 1: Get out right away, as fast as you can. We're sick of looking at you, and you looking at our women.
Version 2: Get out, but not too fast, because I can grift you for reconstruction money for a while, then I can start grifting the Iraqi government, but I need your money so I can prime the bribe pump in Baghdad.
Version 3: I'll say "Yankee Go Home" on the street. But I'll have a nice ha-ha with you over chai over at battalion HQ. Really, stick around as long as you can, because while you're here, I can build up my own little street crew and extort all the merchants in this neighborhood. I'll call my street crew Sons of Iraq, so you'll pay their salaries, but really I'm the warlord and you're a non-Arabic speaking ring-knocker jackass out of West Point who wouldn't know shit from shinola, and you're only here because you want that CIB on your uniform. You're as much of an opportunistic warlord as me, effendi. Would you like my boys to fire a few rounds over your head so you can tell a great war story back in Marietta Georgia when you run for Congress in a few years?
Version 4: Yankee Go Home, because you blew up my house and never paid for it. My son went off to join the Mehdi Army and got killed. But I'm a widow in a refugee camp in Jordan, and my voice doesn't count.
Version 5: Yankee Go Home. And take me back with you. I'm the college graduate with a degree in Organic Chemistry who learned English at Ohio State, but I was stupid enough to come back here in 2002 and now the only job I can get is tagging around with your dumbass soldiers who have less education than me. I wear a ski mask, which is pretty hot and scratchy in 120 degrees Fahrenheit, that's 48 celsius, but you Americans never went metric. Oh, and take my family too.
Version 6: Yankee Go Home in 16 months or so, that's a good idea, Mr. Obama said so. Heh heh. Every time I say "Obama" I might as well say "Frau Blucher", some Bush horse is going to neigh, and I find it amusing. Little things amuse little minds, ah me. I'm an Iraqi politician, trying to get re-elected, and I could care less if you're here or not, as long as you keep the power on in the Green Zone and I love those Little Debbie cakes from the PX. I keep the AC set at 15 degrees celsius, that's 60 for you American idiots, a remark I will never make to your face because I know goddamn well you're never going to leave this Green Zone. It's a paradise. We Arabs have this idea about Paradise, we call it Jannah, the Garden. Palm trees, dates, an oasis. Well screw that, Paradise features air conditioning, power 24 hours a day, and Little Debbie cakes. Think I'll say it again. "Obama" (frightened neighs in Washington)