Greg Hartnett

Today, I joined countless other Americans in a July 4 staple - barbeque. While grilling my rib-eye to perfection and enjoying a Heineken (ok not so American), I dialed my iPod onto Credence Clearwater Revival. The lyrics to “Fortunate Son” struck me as appropriate, and wrap up my American experience pretty well. Thank you John Fogerty.

Some folks are born made to wave the flag,
ooh, they’re red, white and blue.
And when the band plays “Hail To The Chief”,
oh, they point the cannon at you, Lord,

It ain’t me, it ain’t me,
I ain’t no senator’s son,
It ain’t me, it ain’t me,
I ain’t no fortunate one, no,

Some folks are born silver spoon in hand,
Lord, don’t they help themselves, oh.
But when the taxman come to the door,
Lord, the house look a like a rummage sale, yes,

It ain’t me, it ain’t me,
I ain’t no millionaire’s son.
It ain’t me, it ain’t me,
I ain’t no fortunate one, no.

Yeh, some folks inherit star spangled eyes,
ooh, they send you down to war, Lord,
And when you ask them, how much should we give,
oh, they only answer, more, more, more, yoh,

It ain’t me, it ain’t me,
I ain’t no military son,
It ain’t me, it ain’t me,
I ain’t no fortunate one,

It ain’t me, it ain’t me,
I ain’t no fortunate one, no no no,
It ain’t me, it ain’t me,
I ain’t no fortunate son, no no no,