Three weeks and counting ‘till he’s on his way to FrancenNot a dime in his pocket but a ticket in his handnHe’s a cynical bastard but there’s hope in his eyesnIt’s been a long time comingnIt’s been a long time running from his insidesnnHe tries hard to songwrite his way out of bednBut nothing tastes and clever as it sounded in his headnHe wants to get his teeth wet and sink his feet innHe should have billions of dollarsn‘Cause every asshole’s put two cents innnBut he writes the songs, yeahnHe can say what he wants, yeahnHe can be who he wants tonAnd they say he’s wrongnBut they keep tagging alongnYeah, they can leave if they want tonAnd his way will never meet yoursnHe’s got the world his backnAnd watch him take itnOn all foursnnNine out of ten motherfuckers agreenThat his fucking foul languagenIs a fucking travestynBut motherfucking fuck is just another fucking wordnThe idea a word is dirty is too in-fucking-absurdnnBut he writes the songs, yeahnHe can say what he wants, yeahnHe can be who he wants tonAnd they say he’s wrongnBut they keep tagging alongnYeah, they can leave if they want tonAnd his way will never meet yoursnHe’s got the world his backnAnd watch him take itnOn all foursnnAnd this world will soon be the death of himnAnd his voice will fade awaynAnd his jeans will be all that’s left of himnAnd they’ll wonder if he was okaynAnd the alchies will say it was drinkingnAnd the preacher will say it was sinnAnd his mother will say he was thinkingnOnly of himself againnAnd the gays will say it was straight peoplenAnd the straights will say it was AIDSnAnd he’ll be in line at the gatenPeople still standing in his waynIn his waynnYeah, he writes the songsnAnd he can say what he wants, yeahnHe can be who he wants tonAnd they say he’s wrongnBut they keep tagging alongnYeah, they can leave if they want tonAnd his way will never meet yoursnHe’s got the world his backnAnd watch him take itnOn all fours