American b*tches lyrics

by

Bloodhound Gang


[Verse 1]
Raise your hand if you like American b*tches
Locked in girl on girl kisses
Well, I do

You're just mad you can't score American b*tches
So you're blowing up sh*t, which
Just goes to prove

[Pre-Chorus]
That eighteen year old bombs are dynamite
Yes, eighteen year old bombs are dynamite
(What kind of a man sits Indian style?)

[Chorus]
Camping with your bros, as your playoff beard grows
Ain't gonna get your wack ass laid
Camping with your bros, as your playoff beard grows
Ain't gonna get your wack ass laid

[Verse 2]
Trust me holmes, you would kill for American b*tches
And the freedom of tits if
You only knew, who-hoo

[Pre-Chorus]
That eighteen year old bombs are dynamite
Yes, eighteen year old bombs are dynamite
(What kind of a man sits Indian style?)
[Chorus]
Camping with your bros, as your playoff beard grows
Ain't gonna get your wack ass laid
Camping with your bros, as your playoff beard grows
Ain't gonna get your wack ass laid

[Verse 3]
Come to Infidelphia
And fall in love with the unholy
My boy knows this stripper that looks just like Angelina Jolie

[Bridge]
Just
Don't bring up
What that club
You belong to does...
Dungeons & Dragons

[Chorus]
Camping with your bros, as your playoff beard grows
Ain't gonna get your wack ass laid
Camping with your bros, as your playoff beard grows
Ain't gonna get your wack ass laid

[Outro]
Where I come from bras are booby traps
And soft targets have a bikini wax
Where I come from bras are booby traps
And soft targets have a bikini wax
Where I come from bras are booby traps
And soft targets have a bikini wax
Where I come from bras are booby traps
And soft targets have a bikini wax
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