| G | F | |
| Some folks are born m | ade to wave the flag, |
| C7 | G | |
| ooh, they're red, white and | blue. |
| G | F | |
| And when the band plays " | Hail to the chief" |
| C7 | G | |
| they point the cannon right at | you. |
| G | D7 | C7 | G | |
| It ain't me, | it ain't me, | I'm no senator's | son. |
| G | D7 | C7 | G | |
| It ain't me, | it ain't me, | I'm no fortunate | one. |
| Some folks are born silver spoon in hand, |
| Lord, don't they help themselves. |
| But when the tax man comes to the door: |
| "Lord, the house looks like a rummage sale." |
| It ain't me, it ain't me, I'm no millionaire's son. |
| It ain't me, it ain't me, I'm no fortunate one. |
| (break: G Gdim C G) |
| Some folks inherit star spangled eyes, |
| ooh, they send you down to war. |
| And when you ask them: "How much should we give?" |
| Oh, they only answer: "More, more, more" |
| It ain't me, it ain't me, I'm no military's son. |
| It ain't me, it ain't me, I'm no fortunate one. |