| Some folks are born made to wave the flag
|
| Ooh, the red, white and blue
|
| And when the band plays «Hail to the Chief»
|
| They point the cannon right at you, Lord
|
| It ain’t me, it ain’t me
|
| I ain’t no senator’s son, no
|
| It ain’t me, it ain’t me
|
| I ain’t no fortunate one, no
|
| Some folks are born silver spoon in hand
|
| Ah, they really help themselves
|
| But when the tax man comes to the door
|
| Lord, the house look a rummage sale, oh yeah
|
| It ain’t me, it ain’t me
|
| I ain’t no millionaire’s son, no
|
| It ain’t me, it ain’t me
|
| I ain’t no fortunate one, no
|
| Some folks inherit star-spangled eyes
|
| Ooh, they send you down to war
|
| And when you ask them, «How much should I give?»
|
| Oh, they only answer, «More»
|
| It ain’t me, it ain’t me
|
| I ain’t no military son, no
|
| It ain’t me, it ain’t me
|
| I ain’t no fortunate one, no
|
| It ain’t me, it ain’t me, no
|
| It ain’t me, it’ll never be me
|
| I ain’t no fortunate one, no |