My body is a map of L.A.
I stand straight like an angel with a halo
Hangin′ out the Hilton Hotel window, screamin'
"Hey, baby, let′s go"
My chest, the Sierra Madre
My hips, every high and byway
That you trace with your fingertips like a Toyota
Run your hands over me like a Land Rover
In Arcadia, Arcadia
All roads that lead to you as integral to me as arteries
That pump the blood that flows straight to the heart of me
America, America
I can't sleep at home tonight, send me a Hilton Hotel
Or a cross on the hill, I'm a lost little girl
Findin′ my way to you
Arcadia
My body is a map of L.A.
And my heart is like paper, I hate ya
I′m not from the land of the palms, so I know I can't stay here
I′m not native, but
My curves, San Gabriel all day
My lips like the fire licks the bay
If you think that you know yourself, you can come over
Lay your hands on me like you're a Land Rover
In Arcadia, Arcadia
All roads that lead to you as integral to me as arteries
That get the blood flowin′ straight to the heart of me
America, I need a miracle
I can't sleep at home tonight, send me a Hilton Hotel
Or a cross on the hill, I′m a lost little girl
Findin' my way to you
Arcadia
They built me up three hundred feet tall just to tear me down
So I'm leavin′ with nothin′ but laughter, and this town
Arcadia
Findin' my way to ya
I′m leavin' them as I was, five foot eight
Western bound, plus the hate that they gave
By the way, thanks for that, on the way, I′ll pray for ya
But you'll need a miracle
America
Writer(s): Elizabeth Woolridge Grant, Drew Erickson
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