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