[Scratches by Mr. Len]

[Intro: El-Producto]
Do you know who you are..
Do you know who you are fucking with?
Do you know, the access, to weapons, money and power
That we have? We will fucking kill you!

[Verse 1: El-Producto]
I'm the ugliest version of passed down toxic capitalist
Rabid emcee perversion -- I'm America!
Your bleeding-heart liberal drivel gets squashed
Wash 'em with sterilized rhyme patriot-guided weaponry bomb
From the makers of the devious hearts -- I'm America!
You bitchy little dogs don't even phase my basic policy
The bomb's smarter, my Ronald Reagan's crush Carter
With Bay of Pig tactics makin' young men into martyrs
(Come on down!) Come to my happy promised land
Smiley faced opportunity cipher
And jump on the CoFlow pension plan
A proletariat, crushing State of the Union
Between serpentine words and mass confusion
Of media controlled blurb advertising disillusionment
Your family will love my low-rent, low-life
No-brain, reality-dagger movement
Hop over the border for amusement
Try to test the waters that the other slaughter crews pay all they dues in
You up against) Jesus freaks, Mormon corporations, and Young Republicans
Indelible NATO force hidden agenda, puppet governments
I'm lovin' it! Keep the people guessin' who I'm runnin' with
Control the population and hide behind sacred covenants
(Fuckin with me!) Please let the wildlife burn in gasoline ceased
And I’m on a magnetic third world planet with metal plates in the knees
Can't you hear the disenchanted, hollow scream of
Gabriel's reflected new wind instrument of judgment played in flat C
I replace humans like robots in a GM factory (warning! warning!)
Then export metaphors to sweat shops, cause the price is satisfactory
Your pious little cries of injustice get met with apathy
(Awww, SHUT UP!) Soak, cloak, hormone injected dairy product
And conservative right-wing anti-eroticism
The poisonous reservoirs and power lines in your neighborhood cause botulism
Senseless! Join the census, censorship sentence ascendance
Triple-felon citizen paid penance!
Dissension against C-F ends in, penitentiary residence
Lock 'em up first, then ask questions
Omniscient presence, my charm is the weapon
With cameras mics and satellites that leave privacy breathless
You don't even know the chemicals you've ingested
Urine tested -- beat innocent man 'til he confesses
[Hook]
"Who's America? Who's America? Who's America? Who's America?"
"Who's America? Who's America? Who's America? Who's America?"
[El-P] I'm America! I'm America! I'm America! Mr. Len, get busy on em!

{*DJ Mr. Len the Space Ghost cuts up "God damn!!"*}

[Verse 2: El-Producto]
I'm America arrogant, terminus verbal curfew murders
You either purchase my products or you're worthless, that's my service
Don't look into the oculars of a daylight saver
Eraser, city-headed monument defacer
Comprising of patriot droids, sent into the void with lead linings
Employed by the bureaucrats of automatic twisted rhyme timing
You're guaranteed nothing but my fat little finger
That lingers one inch off of the big button, let's start this
I'm Sarin gas, hide in your apartments
I'm stealth like a robot hidden in the fat asshole of Cartman
Can give a prickly fuck like sand sharkskin condom
To your apparent vaginal problem, the hottest shit on Soundbombing
I'm American 'til infinite justice measure to Pesticide Cemetery
Invite you to cross the border then shit on your divinities
What language is that? I'm anguish in fact, tangle with a
Star-spangled standard issue gat for crowd management
Talk loud and get enshrouded in a hot cloud of harassment
By the proud force of my mental pedestrian checker
That smashes subordinate skulls and update the file in your dental records
You tried to get elected but the crowd is my paid hecklers (BOO! BOO!)
You just stepped into the spectrum of paranoid word rainbows
Thinkin' you sick with a silhouette, burn transit cop out his plain clothes
I'm America! This is where the pain grows like poppies
In a Field of Dreams I paid for, I'll burn it down if operated sloppily, copy?
My economic sanction rhyme style got your syllables
Scraping for rice and riding in a pre-1960 jalopy
My favorite flavor of gas is mustard
I'm fuckin' a blind hermaphrodite icon and convincin' you that it's justice
[Hook]
"Who's America? Who's America? Who's America? Who's America?"
{*DJ Mr. Len the Space Ghost cuts up "God damn!!"*}

[Outro: El-Producto]
Treason will not be tolerated!
You have been enlisted.. into a lifestyle that you may not change!
Understand! You can't be happy.. and smile.. for the cameras!
MotherFUCKER!