America

He was a fighter by trade
And every look was a scar he made
and every scar was a tick.
He smelt of money and gin.
I know of no one as wide as him
and every word was a

Shout
In
Out
Side
of an Ameri

Can
You
Hear
Him
It's an American

He wore ten gallon hat,
and in the dust he was all you saw,
he was too big to be cool.
He liked to show his gold teeth.
He liked to ride up on his Har-ley
and every road was his

Own
Hot
Gang
War
inside Ameri

Can
You
Hear
Him
It's an American

(solo)

Control is everything.
He who commands is the one to be,
only commanders are free.
I'm sure that he is still there,
in some far corner away somewhere,
perhaps observing my

Way
Of
Life
Style
ish in Ameri

Car
Train
Bike
Plains
across America.