Ten, ten, ten Nine times out of ten You know how it ends You know how it ends
All we want in this life Is a guitar and a mic And a full count, baby Three balls, two strikes Twitchy kid in class skin Skin, bones, buck teeth A mask, Oscar Wilde The truth beneath, you asked Learned our scales Learned when we failed Know we got a sound That ain’t going stale And we ain’t on sale Independent as fuck EL-P wanna be’s Mother fucking bang 4 your buck
You poor guys Make bucket lists Rare Americans We take fuckin’ risks It’s a different way to live It’s a different way to live No, we don’t give a fuck About critics cats Let us get through to you We’re the man in the arena And there’s always Someone eager to Boo at you
Ten, ten, ten Nine times out of ten You know how it ends You know how it ends
We can sing motherfucker We’re the real McCoy We have presence on stage We’re JT Leroy We’re the musical embodiment Of D.B. Cooper Drop parachute lines People in a stupor We weren’t worth betting on? Like some kinda green monkey? On the fatness scale We are fucking chunky
You poor guys Make bucket lists Rare Americans We take fuckin’ risks It’s a different way to live It’s a different way to live No, we don’t give a fuck About critics cats Let us get through to you We’re the man in the arena And there’s always Someone eager to Boo at you No, we don’t give a fuck About critics cats Let us get through to you We’re the man in the arena And there’s always Someone eager to Boo at you