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Mrs. E Roosevelt never heard me shoot my gun Mrs. E Roosevelt didn't even know I owned one Somewhere between the cobblestone floor and the slated wooden ceiling Cuddling my semi-automatic, what a very fuzzy feeling Oh...there's nothing like emptying a cartridge at the sun
Uh-merica
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
There's nothing like emptying a cartridge at the sun
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