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 the cartridge at the sun

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

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

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