Riding through the city of new voters.
Illinois sends 'em, Cleveland without fail.
Thirteen hours, a hundred million levers
three candidates, and Dubya gets kicked in tail.

All along the southbound odyssey
those folks held down by GOP
roll on through their mortgaged farmers' fields.
Passing signs with Kerry's name
remembering dead soldier men
and the empty rooms that once built automobiles.

Good morning, America, how are ya?
Say, don't you know me? I'm your favorite son!
I'm the President-elect named John F. Kerry.
I'll be gone off to the White House when the day is done.

Dealing cards with five jokers in the Cabinet.
Penny-a-pinchin', unemployed are sore.
Pretzel, no, I think it was a bottle.
And feel the jobs, they're crashing 'neath the floor.

And the sons of Vietnam vets
and the sons of hippie chicks
ride George Dubya's big vendetta, made to steal.
Coffins with their cargo sweet
Dubya will never meet
'cause the guilt is something he don't want to feel.

Good morning, America, how are ya?
Say, don't you know me? I'm your favorite son!
I'm the President-elect named John F. Kerry.
I'll be gone off to the White House when the day is done.

Nighttime in the city of new voters.
Changing red to blue in Tennessee.
Halfway home, we'll be there by midnight.
And the Massachusetts darkness celebrates victory.

And all the towns and people seem
to wake up from this bad dream
and the moron still ain't heard the news:
We hear Florida is blue again
and Jeb could not pull his refrain.
This land's got the disappearing Repub blues!

Good night, America, how are ya?
Say, don't you know me? I'm your favorite son!
I'm the President-elect named John F. Kerry.
I'll be gone off to the White House when the day is done.