He has nothing but a can of beer
To quench him, and surf on the air.
The nights of soaking in the city's dreams,
He hates the rich but he hates in vain

If a power was to lift him up,
Make him rich, would he admit it was luck?
Or say he'd earned it, and claim a state of grace,
Just like the rich in this hateful place.

What the hell is wrong with you?
You long to lord it like the rich folks do,
You command me from the depths of gin,
To walk a tightrope in a gale force wind,
Walk a tightrope in a gale force wind.

I saw a dead man in the street today,
And he'll stay there becuase he never paid,
He was a stranger who would not go home,
Blinded by sun on the streets of gold.

What the hell is wrong with you?
You long to lord it like the rich folks do,
You command me from the depths of gin,
To walk a tightrope in a gale force wind,

Mother mother would you dry my eyes,
Doctor says that I will have to die,
I went with someone and I woke to find,
I'm not subhuman and I don't know why.
I'm not subhuman and I don't know why.

Nothing is what you'll you hear from me.
When they ground me and spat me back on the street
Will I be sorry I chose reality,
Instead of half-wit romance and greed?

Go apart, go right, go straight,
And watch your friends become the kind you hate,
And face distinction with a sheepish nod,
Twilight of the underdog.

What the hell is wrong with you?
You laugh and murder like the rich folks do,
You can no more stop them in the state I'm in,
Than I can walk a tightrope in a gale force wind.

With no change whatsoever.
With no change whatsoever.
By night I just attacked myself - I dont count.
With no change whatsoever.