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