Lyrics:
that a shame
Bill Bailey won't you please come home.
Bill drove by that door
In an automobile,
A great big diamond, coach and footman
Hear that
full of old black men
And the graveyards of rusted automobiles
[Chorus]
Good mornin' America, how are you?
Don't you know me? I'm your native son!
For many though, this birthplace
Of the automobile and organized labor
Was seen as a promised land
For twenty-five years
Sudden Blacks migrated
Power
would
tell the whole hood if i could
I'mma let you gangsters know how I feel
I want planes, trains, and automobiles
I want a sky blue Cadillac,
on a hill,
She rustled and tustled like buffalo bill,
One day she decided she'd go for a ride,
With a pistol and a sword by her side.
She rolled right up
Where I come from isn't all that great
My automobile isn't all that great
My fashion sense is a little whack
Got nothing in my pocket
I didn't
end
Motherfuckin' black radio is being disowned
Not by the other race, but its own
A lot of bullshit records make hits
Because of who you know,
day I'd watch them beauties roll by
And sometimes I'd hang my head and cry
'Cause I always wanted me one that was long and black.
One day I
automobiles to hotels on wheels
I got money for a room it's just the fact that I'm trill
Bitches love when I cruise up the boulevard
They have contests
to get ass
I turn automobiles to hotels on wheels
I got money for a room it's just the fact that I'm trill
Bitches love when I cruise up the boulevard
names
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Good morning, America
How are you?
Don't you know me? I'm
no names
And freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Good morning America, how are you?
Said, "Don't you
happened one day
While I was driving to my home
I just happened to have my car radio on
When I heard the jockey raving about
A brand new smash
By a kid
full of old black men
And the graveyards of rusted automobiles
[Chorus]
Good mornin' America, how are you?
Don't you know me? I'm your native son!
a cockpit)
I fly by the seat of my pants (Seat of my pants)
Sinful thoughts, this beat is crazy, this shit's retarded
This Instru's mental, too many bars,
not going anywhere".
A funny thing about a couple when a couple of years've gone by.
You don't talk; you think you know each other so well you don't
no name
And freight yards full of old black men
And the grave-yards of the rusted automobiles
Good-Morning America, how are you?
Say don't you
towns that have no name
And freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of rusted automobiles
Singin', "Good morning America, how are ya?"
towns that have no name
And freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of rusted automobiles
Singin', "Good morning America, how are ya?"
have no names
And freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Good morning, America
How are you?
Say don't
have no names
And freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Good morning, America
How are you?
Say don't
names,
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.
Good morning America how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your
the love we had?
Does a day go by like a memory?
Do you ever try to remember me
In an automobile or a crowded bar?
Well, I hope you're alright where
names
And freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Good morning, America
How are you?
Say don't you know me? I'm
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