Uh-Merica

Mrs. E. Roosevelt never heard me shoot my gun, la, la, la

Mrs. E. Roosevelt didn't even know I owned one la, la, la

Somewhere between the cobblestone floor and the slated wooden ceiling la, la, la

Cuddling my semi-automatic, what a very fuzzy feeling la la la

Oh, there's nothing like emptying a cartridge at the sun



Uh-merica, Uh-merica

Uh-merica, Uh- merica

Oh, there's nothing like emptying a cartridge at the sun.



Oh we're born alone and then we're covered by m-m-m-mother's kisses

The mind has already forgotten what the body still misses

Somewhere between the sticky floor and the cracks in the ceiling

Cuddling my semi automatic, what a very fuzzy feeling

Oh, there's nothing like emptying a cartridge at the sun



Uh-merica, Uh-merica

Uh-merica, Uh- merica

Oh, there's nothing like emptying a cartridge at the sun



One more time

Uh-merica, Uh-merica

Uh-merica, Uh- merica



Oh, there's nothing like emptying a cartridge at the sun la, la, la

emptying a cartridge at the sun la, la, la

emptying a cartridge at the sun