Lyrics:
can hear a horn up comes an automobile
When I open the door
Girl it’s you at the wheel
What are you doing in my dream
I thought I gave you up a long
rustled and tussled like Buffalo Bill
One day she decided she'd go for a ride
With a pistol and a sword by her side
She rode right up to my front door
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
she decided she'd go for a ride (hey Bo Diddley)
With a pistol and a sword by her side (hey Bo Diddley)
She rolled right up to my front door (hey Bo
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
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
names,
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.
CHORUS:
Good morning America how are you?
Don't you know me
In Chicago where I live, there's an outfit that'd tow almost anything off the street. They deal mostly with automobile. And we call 'em the Lincoln
could never keep my trousers up
I remember days and crazy nights
Are there any pirates on this ship?
And if they sober up - they'll have us
Home by
For your own
I'm movin' out of this hospedaje
I'm afraid you'll cut me boy
Thirty miles by
Hundred miles by stinkin' island
Por goofiar an'
For your own
I'm movin' out of this hospedaje
I'm afraid you'll cut me boy
Thirty miles by
Hundred miles by stinkin' island
Por goofiar an'
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,
Where I come from isn't all that great
My automobile is a piece of crap
My fashion sense is a little wack
And my friends are just as screwy as me
I like to be in america
Ok by me in america
Everything free in america
For a small fee in america
I like the city of san juan
I know a boat
a ride from an automobile
Won't somebody stop and let me ride?
Why don't you stop and let me ride?
Won't somebody let me ride?
I'm movin' on down
I played tag in the auto graveyard
I looked up at the radio tower
Rag tent by the railroad tracks
Concrete poured over steel bridge
Pondered my fate
I played tag in the auto graveyard
I looked up at the radio tower
Rag tent by the railroad tracks
Concrete poured over steel bridge
Pondered my
the door to meet a fiend by the store
And I heard 'so you off touring?'
I turn and seen his whore that I used to fiend for that aint never let me score
to the sound properly laid and mixed down
By no other than my brother, although from different mother
J. Rawls with Sands on the mic, so take cover
The sound
Ayo planes, trains, automobiles
The G500s with the auto-roll wheels
Pinot Grigio, got 'em on chill
See now, see me ho? I got that deal
If you tryna
Put geronimo in jail down south
Where he couldn't look
A gift horse in the mouth
Took old geronimo by storm
Ripped off the feathers from his uniform
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