Don't try so hard to be different
The cracks are beginning to show
You drift like a cloud through the festival crowd
In a frock coat from Saville Row
You've just been an all-night party
Where I have to admit it takes pluck
To go out on the floor and proclaim "What a bore"
In a T-shirt that reads "Disco Sucks"
Yes, here he comes, the not-so-young
Pretender to the Throne
He's singing "Rag, Momma, Rag"
Won't you give that poor dog a bone?
And he's wondering why we can't connect
When he's sworn to us that he's totally wrecked
On the rustic charm that he affects
On a public schoolboy whim
With a raggle taggle plastic gypsy
With a synthesized accordian
A-scramblin' up my brain