In a town in southernmost Sicily Lived a family too proud to be poor In the year that fever took father away They hastened for American shores Now a mother and her son are standing in line It's a cold day on Ellis Isle And they look to the Statue of Liberty For the boy we have American Life
Ong is a Laotian refugee He works in the audio trade The smoke from flux is filling his lungs He's earning minimum wage Spending spare time down on San Pablo ave Once a week gets a woman for the night And he writes home tales of prosperity For the boy we have American Life
Bob is an unemployed veteran Born and bred in the South Bronx He's living off the streets down in east L.A. Residing in a cardboard box Now he plays a little quit and he has a small dog Searching for aluminum cans And he hold on tight to his dignity He was born into American LifeTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
