Uh-merica

Mrs. E. Roosevelt never heard me shoot my gun, la, la, la
Mrs. E. Roosevelt didn't even know I owned one la, la, la
Somewhere between the cobblestone floor and the slated wooden ceiling la, la, la
Cuddling my semi-automatic, what a very fuzzy feeling la la la
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 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, 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