Driving through the south, no need to stop for gas
Thats all taken care of, by the gas man
Some of it is very beautiful, some of it has scars
and some of it is ugly, as a bigot in a bar
The night makes us stop, by the side of the road for tea
I look up in the distance, a branding iron is stuck up in the night sky
It's in the shape of American, and it's in flames
but I'm not sure why
Into the cornfields
Into the cordnfields
We don't want to go