And this guy comes up to me His face red like a rose in a thorn bush Like all the colors of a royal flush And hes peeling off those dollar bills Slappin em down One hundred, two hundred And I can see those fighter planes And I can see those fighter planes Across the mud huts where the children sleep Through the alleys of a quiet city street You take the staircase to the first floor Turn the key and slowly unlock the door As a man breathes into a saxophone And through the walls you hear the city groan Outside its America Outside its America America... Across the field you see the sky ripped open See the rain through a gaping wound Pounding on the women and children Who run into the arms of America...
Posted on: Wed, 01 Oct 2014 01:03:11 +0000
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