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

Oh, we're born alone and 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

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