Despite your pseudo-bohemian appearance
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And vaguely leftist doctrine of beliefs
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You know nothing about art or sex
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That you couldn’t read in any trendy New York underground fashion magazine
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Prototypical non-conformist
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You are a vacuous soldier of the thrift store Gestapo
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You adhere to a set of standards and tastes
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That appear to be determined by an unseen panel of hipster judges (bullshit)
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Giving a thumbs up or thumbs down to incoming and outgoing trends and styles of
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music and art
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Go analog baby, you’re so post-modern
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You’re diving face forward into a antiquated past
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It’s disgusting, it’s offensive, don’t stick your nose up at me
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Yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?
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Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah
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Yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?
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Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah
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You spend your time sitting in circles with your friends
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Pontificating to each other
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Forever competing for that one moment of self-aggrandizing glory
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In which you hog the intellectual spotlight
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Holding dominion over the entire shallow pointless conversation
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Oh, we’re not worthy
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When you walk by a group of quote-unquote normal people
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You chuckle to yourself patting yourself on the back as you scoff
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It’s the same superiority complex
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Shared by the high school jocks who made your life a living hell
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And makes you a slave to the competitive capitalist dogma
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You spend every moment of your waking life bitching about
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Yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?
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Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah
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And I say yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?
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Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah
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Cause I’m proud of my life and the things that I have done
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Proud of myself and the loner I’ve become
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You’re free to whine, it will not get you far
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I do just fine, my car and my guitar
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Well let me tell you this, I am shamelessly self-involved
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I spend hours in front of the mirror, making my hair elegantly disheveled
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I worry about how this album will sell
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Because I believe it will determine the amount of sex I will have in the future
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I self medicate with drugs and alcohol to treat my extreme social anxiety
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You are a faker (admit it)
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You are a fraud (admit it)
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Yeah, you’re living a lie (hey) living a lie (hey) your life is living a lie
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You don’t impress me (admit it)
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You don’t intimidate me (admit it)
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Why don’t you bow down, get on the ground, walk this fucking plank (yeah!)
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Yeah, what do you have to say for yourself
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Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah
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And I say yeah (what do you.)
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Proud of my life and the things that I have done
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Proud of myself and the loner I’ve become
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You’re free to whine, it will not get you far
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I do just fine, my car and my
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Guitar, guitar go!
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I drift, drift, drift, drift, drift, yeah
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I drift, drift, drift, drift, drift, yeah oh
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And I am done with this
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I wanna taste the breeze of every great city
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My car and my guitar
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My car and my guitar
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So you’ll come to be, made of these urges unfulfilled
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Oh no, no, no, no, no
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When I’m dead I’ll rest
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When I’m dead I’ll rest, lay still
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When I’m dead I’ll rest, I’ll rest
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When I’m dead I’ll rest, I’ll rest
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When I’m dead I’ll rest, I’ll rest
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When I’m dead I’ll rest, I’ll rest |