In a town in southernmost Sicily   Lived a family too proud to be poor   In the year that fever took father away   They hastened for American shores   Now a mother and her son are standing in line   It's a cold day on Ellis Isle   And they look to the Statue of Liberty   For the boy we have American Life      Ong is a Laotian refugee   He works in the audio trade   The smoke from flux is filling his lungs   He's earning minimum wage   Spending spare time down on   San Pablo ave   Once a week gets a woman for the night   And he writes home tales of prosperity   For the boy we have American Life      Bob is an unemployed veteran   Born and bred in the South Bronx   He's living off the streets down in east L.A.   Residing in a cardboard box   Now he plays a little quit and he has a small dog   Searching for aluminum cans   And he hold on tight to his dignity   He was born into American Life