(Don Henley/Frank Simes/Stan Lynch)

Ah, it's open season here my friend
It always is; it always has been
Welcome, welcome to the U.S.A.
We're partying fools in the autumn of our heyday
And though we're running out of everything
We can't afford to quit
Before this binge is over
We've got to squeeze off one more hit
We're workin' it
Workin' it

Soon you will be dancing face-to-face
With the limits of ambition and the scars of the marketplace
Welcome to the land of flame and fizz
Where you will learn that packaging is all that heaven is

We got the little black car, the little black dress
Got the guru, the trainer, the full court press
We got the software, hard drive, CD-ROM
We got the exploitation.com
We got the pager, cell phone, bootleg methaqualone
The media, the message: you are what you own
We got the agent, lawyer, lapdog, voyeur
Talk show, book deal, round mouth, square meal

We're so busy covering our a__es, we just can't commit
"Oh, back off, don't bother me, baby
Can't you see I'm workin' it

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