Ten, ten, ten Nine times out of ten You know how it ends You know how it ends, ends, ends All we want in this life is a guitar and a mic And a full count, baby, three balls, two strikes Twitchy kid in class, skin, bones, buck teeth A mask, Oscar Wilde, the truth beneath, you asked Learned our scales, learned when we failed Know we got a sound that ain't going stale And we ain't on sale, independant as fuck EL-P wannabes Motherfucking bang for your buck You poor guys make bucket lists Rare Americans, we take fuckin' risks It's a different way to live It's a different way to live No, we don't five a fuck about critics cats Let us get through to you We're are the man in the arena And there's always someone eager to boo at you Ten, ten, ten Nine times out of ten You know how it ends (You know how it ends) We can sing, motherfucker We're the real McCoy We have a presence on stage, we're JT LeRoy We're the musical embodiment of D.B. cooper Drop parachute lines, people in a stupor We weren't worth betting on? Like some kinda green monkey? On the fatness scale, we're fucking chunky You poor guys make bucket lists Rare Americans, we take fuckin' risks It's a different way to live It's a different way to live No, we don't five a fuck about critics cats Let us get through to you We're are the man in the arena And there's always someone eager to boo at you No, we don't five a fuck about critics cats Let us get through to you We're are the man in the arena And there's always someone eager to boo at you