| No, no use in lecturing them, or in threatening them |
| They will just say «who are you» |
| Is that a question or not, and you see that the plot |
| Is predictable, not new |
| But you’re still stunned at the things you will do No, no use in taking their time or in wasting two dimes |
| On a call to God knows who |
| When all you feel is the rain and it’s hard to be vain |
| When no person looks at you |
| So just be gracious and wait in the queue |
| CHORUS |
| So when do I get to sing «My Way» |
| When do I get to feel like Sinatra felt |
| When do I get to sing «My Way» |
| In heaven or hell |
| When do I get to do it my way |
| When do I get to feel like Sid Vicious felt |
| When do I get to sing «My Way» |
| In heaven or hell |
| Yes, it’s a tradition they say, like a bright Christmas Day |
| And traditions must go on And though I say, yes I see, no I really don’t see |
| Is my smiley face still on? |
| Sign your name with an X, mow the lawn |
| CHORUS |
| They’ll introduce me, «Hello, hello» |
| Women seduce me and champagne flows |
| Then the lights go low |
| There’s only one song I know |
| There, this home which once was serene, now is home to the screams |
| And to flying plates and shoes |
| But I have no souvenirs of these crackerjack years |
| Not a moment I could choose |
| And not one offer that I could refuse |
| CHORUS |