Young black America Yeah, I was on that corner, tryna get my coins up Coppers run up on us and we turn to Jackie Joyner White man kill a black man, they never report us Black man kill a white man, they gon' start a war up Mama she was sour, sippin' on

Glory, glory hallelujah His truth is marching on Look away, look away, look away Dixieland Oh, I wish I was in the land of cotton Old times they are not forgotten Oh, I wish I was in Dixie, away, away In Dixieland I take my stand to live and die in Dixie

Somewhere in America Hey girl, help me if you can I'm coming to you with my heart in my hand Give me love, I'm starved for affection All I need is just a little direction somewhere cross the sea she waits for me

John, Christine is still with us Christine is dead, Laura Of course, of course, I know but, you know the two ladies in the restaurant? Well, they were watching us while we were eating. They kept staring at us, they told me this because they could see

There's madness in us all There's two eyes for every one of us But somebody got there first and took them all You are the one they call Jesus Christ So, who wrote the rules? Who wrote the rules, who wrote the rules? They said, every one of you will never

Hey hey hey And I know now, that I'm so down She looks so perfect standing there In my American Apparel underwear Your lipstick stain is a work of art I've got your name tattooed in an arrow heart Let's get out

Don't get it fucked up I do this shit for my, I do this shit for my Yesterday was the freshest nigga in America I swear to God I ain't lyin' bruh, I ain't lyin' bruh Niggas talkin' bout oh shit I pull up they like oh shit Now look whose talkin', bitch

Hey, hey, hey, hey And I know now, that I'm so down You look so perfect standing there In my American Apparel underwear Your lipstick stain is a work of art I got your name tattooed in an arrow heart

Hey, hey what can I say I grew up in the heartland USA I sing it loud and proud and I make a lotta noise I'm an all-American middle class white boy We wasn't rich but we wasn't poor Lived on a cul-de-sac 'til my parents divorced I drove a hand-me-down

Pushing little children, With their fully automatics, They like to push the weak around, They like to push the weak around. Push the weak around, Beyond the Staples Center you can see America, With its tired, poor, avenging disgrace, Peaceful, loving