Oh, they're red, whit and blue.
And when the band plays "Hail to the chief",
They point the cannon right at you.
I ain't no senator's son.
I ain't no fortunate one.
Lord don't they help themselves.
But when the tax man comes to the door,
Lord, the house looks like a rummage sale.
I ain't no millionaire's son.
I ain't no fortunate one.
Ooh, they send you down to war.
"How much should we give?"
They only answer "More! More! More!"
I ain't no fortunate one.
I ain't no Fortunate Son.