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