If you kick them all out,
Cause they never fit in,
Lashed to the mast or,
Drunk on the past,

And they sit at the taverns,
With mail ordered brides,
They sit at the taverns,
With mail ordered brides,
Who stand like flamingos,

And maybe it's true that they're greedy,
That's probably why every thing's gone awry,
And they couldn't be sure,
That the whole world was pure,
No they couldn't be sure,
That the whole world was pure,
And that heaven was just an ocean away,

And maybe it's true,
That the house was too big,
You'll find oversized quarters,
For your sons and your daughters,

And sons will be stealing,
That red, white, and blue feelings,
And daughters will be looking,
At the ceiling or kneeling,
But there's a patriot born everyday,

But what do you expect,
When you put out with losers,
Misfits and drifters,
And battle ax losers,

And you give them a boat,
And say here off you go,
And don't you come back,
Until I say so,
Until I say so,
Until I say so,