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