American Tradition

He wants to lift weights like a fighter We put the medals on the wall In the room of starving vultures Gold trophies, he got em all He wants to be just like his father We play the knife game on the table I bleed to death, it doesn’t matter Cuz my baby he’s still the winner He holds me in his arms but it’s no good Things don’t go like they should He holds me in his arms but it’s no good Things don’t go like they should Sleep on the carpet through the night We’re living off a TV dinner Hanging me up by his gold chain He used to be a hockey player I used to be a figure skater Cutting my leg with the blade In the blue and red arena Trying to pretend we’re the same He holds me in his arms but it’s no good Things don’t go like they should He holds me in his arms but it’s no good Things don’t go like they should