Oh, Mr. James Dean, he don't belong to anythingnOh, he left before they could get himnWith their ways, their wicked waysnnOh, Marilyn Monroe, where did you go?nI didn't hear all your storiesnI didn't see all your glorynnBut the footballer's wife tells her troubles and strifenI just don't care in the endnWho is she to pretendnThat she's one of them?nI don't think sonAnd the girl from that shownYes, the one we all knownShe thinks she's some kinda starnYes, you know who you arenI don't think sonI don't think sonnOh, Ginger Rogers, Fred AstairenWon't you dance for me?n'Cause I just don't carenWhat's going on todaynI think there's something morenSomething morennAnd I'm gone with the wind like they were beforenBut I'm believing myself, I think there's something morenThere must be something morenI think there's something morenSomething morennBut still the footballer's wife tells her troubles and strifenI just don't care in the endnWho is she to pretendnThat she's one of them?nI don't think sonAnd the girl from that shownYes, the one we all knownShe thinks she's some kinda starnYes, you know who you arenI don't think sonI don't think sonnOh, I don't believe in the telling of your storiesnThroughout your life there's just something unappealingnIt don't catch my eyenIt don't catch my eyenOh, I don't believe in the selling of your gloriesnBefore you leave this life there's so much more to seenI don't believe this is how the world should bennBut still the footballer's wife tells her troubles and strifenI just don't care in the endnWho is she to pretendnThat she's one of them?nI don't think sonAnd the girl from that shownYes, the one we all knownShe thinks she's some kinda starnYes, you know who you arenI don't think sonI don't think sonnThe footballer's wife tells her troubles and strifenI just don't care in the endnWho is she to pretendnThat she's one of them?