Rebel Without A Paunch
So my hair is sorta thinning and a colour's been applied;
And, yeah, O.K, about the paunch - I guess I sorta lied;
But you won't hear me whining like those fucking teeny stars
When I'm standing at the mirror and I'm playing air guitar.
Rock and roll is music for the angry and depraved -
So you can't really rock and roll till you're middle aged.
Moaning, between head jobs, rock stars say they're so depressed -
They should try out a real job and a boss that's not impressed;
If it's so fucking hard being young, beautiful and rich
Come on down the office, cockhead, I'd be glad for us to switch:
The Prodigy despise normal men; Keith studded his own tongue;
But the pain of that don't compare to actually being one.
Oooh, it must be so fucking hard for all the Trainspotting crew
To have to live an alienated life in the proletariat milieu,
While all us normal middle class wanker types are trying
Not to have such a great time working 40 years then dieing;
Every fucking adolescent moans about how they're so deprived -
What do you fucking think it's like turning forty five?
"Oh no!" I say to the wife, "another album's due;
Another tour of the world - oh, what am I going to do?
Oh, it's such a hassle - the fans just won't leave me alone -
Remember those great old days with three kids and a loan?
Can't go to Safeways, got a photo shoot, and I'm stoned.
By the way, nearly forgot - Madonna phoned."
Hey, who doesn't wanna rock all day and party every night?
Every adult's a boring turd - that's exactly fucking right.
You'll never join the normal world, says your anguished teenage voice:
Well I don't ever remember someone giving me the choice.
So you can sing about rebellion and experiment with drug bingeing
But you won't get really angry till your teenage kids start whingeing.