[Originally by The Replacements]God, what a mess, on the ladder of success
Where you take one step and miss the whole first rung
Dreams unfulfilled, graduate unskilled
It beats pickin' cotton and waitin' to be forgottenWe are the sons of no one, bastards of young
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
The daughters and the sonsClean your baby womb, trash that baby boom
Elvis in the ground, there'll ain't no beer tonight
Income tax deduction, what a hell of a function
It beats pickin' cotton and waitin' to be forgottenWe are the sons of no one, bastards of young
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
The daughters and the sonsUnwillingness to claim us, ya got no word to name usThe ones who love us best are the ones we'll lay to rest
And visit their graves on holidays at best
The ones who love us least are the ones we'll die to please
If it's any consolation, I don't begin to understand themWe are the sons of no one, bastards of young
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
The daughters and the sonsYoung...take it, it's yours...