Uh-merica

E Am mrs . E . roosevelt never heard me shoot my gun , la , la , la E Am mrs . E . roosevelt didn’t even know i owned one la , la , la C somewhere between the cobblestone floor G and the slated wooden ceiling la , la , la Am E cuddling my semi - automatic , what a very fuzzy feeling la la la Am C G E Am oh , there’s nothing like emptying a cartridge at the sun C G uh - merica , uh - merica Am E uh - merica , uh - merica Am C G E Am 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