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 Life