Dan Bern/Bernstein's musical manifesto about immigration, identity and name changes. Full of none-too-thinly veiled references to his personal and family history of such. Having a bit of history along those lines myself, it really resonates with me for personal reasons, but I think in general this song raises all kinds of interesting questions about what it means to be American, or have any nationality, and, hey, there's that whole recurring theme of identity again (see "Krautmeyer" for another look at real names and "Black Tornado", "Wasteland", "Tiger Woods", and many other Dan Bern/Bernstein tunes for more identity-crisis type ramblings).
Lyrics (reproduced here by permission):
Josef Amerikovsky changed his name
He moved to Omaha and became
John Joseph Jim America
Got taller and thinner
Said: "Call me what you like
Just don't call me late for dinner"
I jumped on a train
From Romania to New York
Every item on the menu
Was lobster or pork
I ate my fill
Then I ate some more
I started to smell
Like some kind of French whore
I went back to Romania
To search for my roots
Found a smashed grave stone
And an old pair of boots
With Amerikovsky inscribed in the heel
I started to feel
Like some kind of fifth wheel
Where do I fit in?
Where do I belong?
With my sad sack soul
And my sack full of songs
And my slice second serve
And primordial scream
And my saxophone nose sniffing
My American dream
Sitting at the bar
Nursing a sloe gin fizz
Na na na, na na na, na na na na
You can't sign your name
Till you know what it is
Na na na, na na na, na na na na
Cancel the piroshki
Give me Chef Boyardee
Forget David's Slingshot
Turn on and see Latrell
Sprewell shake n' shiver and take
Smits and Sabonis to the hole
Pick and roll, interpol
Old man river, grassy knoll
I stand above
Amerikovsky's grave
My head is pounding
From last night's rave
When Dr. Dreznavitsky
Became Dr. Dre
And Moses went on Oprah
And admitted he was gay
On Amerikovsky's grave
I drop a couple tears
Say my three Romanian words
Drink my three Romanian beers
And I fly back to Atlanta
I've got tickets for the game
Who's in the bullpen?
What's his name?
Sitting at the bar
Nursing a sloe gin fizz
Na na na, na na na, na na na na
You can't sign your name
Till you know what it is
Na na na, na na na, na na na na
Na na na, na na na, na na na na
Na na na, na na na, na na na na
Na na na, na na na, na na na na
Na na na, na na na, na na na na
---Bernstein
last updated by fab on 8 November 2002