I'm just trying to find a way to make it back home I'm just trying to get home I'm not trying to stop a hurricane I'm not trying to shake the ground below I'm not trying to part the ocean waves I'm not trying to overthrow the throne I've been gone for so

Fighting on arrival, fighting for survival Buffalo Soldier, Dreadlock Rasta Singing, woe yoe yoe, woe woe yoe yoe In the heart of America Stolen from Africa, brought to America Said he was a Buffalo Soldier Win the war for America Woe yoe yoe yo, yo yo

And the Statue of Liberty started shakin' her fist When you hear mother freedom start ringin' her bell And it feels like the whole wide world is raining down on you Brought to you courtesy of the red white and blue American girls and American guys We'll

The {"Gangsta boogie"}, the {"gangsta boogie!"} (Compton, Compton, Compton) It's the home of America's gangsta rap The place of danger where Where the cops is crooked, and them bitches is killas And them niggas hold it down like black guerillas, where

Don't mean a goddamn thing 'Cause you're all that I want Right here, right now Right here! Right now! Right here right now But I won't take that train I won't catch that flight If you're not on that plane We ain't takin' off tonight

This is the last cowboy song The end of a hundred year Waltz The voices sound sad as they're singin' along Another piece of America's lost He rides the feed lots, clerks in the markets On weekends sellin' tobacco and beer And his dreams of tomorrow,

Bring it on home, bring it on home Bring it on home When I find my love, I'ma bring it on home When I find myself, I'ma bring it on home When I find my joy, I'ma bring it on home And when I find myself, I'ma bring it on home Home, home is where the heart

America, America And the red man is right, to expect a little from you And my brothers are all black and white, yellow too Promise and then follow through, America Well I come from, down around Tennessee But the people in California Are nice to me,

Tous les Acadiens, toutes les Acadiennes Vont chanter, vont danser sur le violon Sont Américains, elles sont Américaines La faute à qui donc, la faute à Napoléon Y a dans le sud de la Louisiane Et dans un coin du Canada Des tas de gars, des tas de femmes

White America! Little Eric looks just like this Erica loves my shit I go to T-R-L, look how many hugs I get I could be one of your kids I Could be one of your kids I never would've dreamed in a million years I'd see So many motherfuckin' people who feel