I forced myself to open my eyes
but if this hangover is killing me
I died at least three times during the night
and I dribbled on myself again
so anyone who told me I should shut my mouth
turned out to be alright in the end
And I have to leave this place by god it's killing me
I guess I'll go to London on the train if the bus does not delay
and in the Barfly I'll think about my life
or that time I played in Newbury
and nobody came
And I know that somethings wrong but I don't know what
and I may not be alone but that's still life wether you like it or not
and I may give it up for fortune and for fame
but I will still be the cynical when I get paid
And maybe then I'll have some credibility
and I don't mean being mentioned in the NME
I know that I've got stupid hair and wonky teeth
and they probably look for prettier than me
Why do you call me grumpy anyway
when you can so often find me with a smile on my face
laughing at the chav boys and their spit for brains
and their nineties fucking tracksuits
and their pretend MC names
And I know that something's wrong but I don't know what
and I may not be alone but it's still life wether you like it or not
and I may give it up for fortune and for fame
but I will still be the cynical when I get paid
Maybe then i'll write decent middle eight
that isn't just the same four chords that i've already played
and the crowd will cheer me on from fret to fret
and I'll have a record contract
and it might help me begin to forget
That something's wrong and I don't know what
and I may not be alone but it's still life wether you like it or not
and I may give it up for fortune and for fame
but I will still be the cynical when I get paid
and I'll be that way until I get laid
good god
And all this is why I'm going so grey