(Composição: Paul Westerberg) 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 forgotten We are the sons of no one, bastards of young We are the sons of no one, bastards of young The daughters and the sons Clean 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 forgotten We are the sons of no one, bastards of young We are the sons of no one, bastards of young The daughters and the sons Unwillingness to claim us, ya got no word to name us The 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 them We are the sons of no one, bastards of young We are the sons of no one, bastards of young The daughters and the sons Young... take it, it's yours
