Uh-merica

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, with a very fuzzy feeling Ohh, there's nothing like emptying a cartridge at the sun Uh-merica Uh-merica Uh-merica Uh-merica Ohh, 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 Ohh, there's nothing like emptying a cartridge at the sun Uh-merica Uh-merica Uh-merica Uh-merica Ohh, there's nothing like emptying a cartridge at the sun One more time Uh-merica Uh-merica Uh-merica Uh-merica Ohh, there's nothing like emptying a cartridge at the sun Emptying a cartridge at the sun Emptying a cartridge at the sun