Bastards Of Young

God what a mess
On the ladder of success
Where you take one step
And miss the whole first run
Dreams, unfulfilled
Graduate unskilled
It beats picking cotton
And waiting 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 their sons
Clean your baby womb
Trash that baby boom
With Elvis in the ground
We’re out here tonight
Income tax deduction
What a hell of a function
It beats picking cotton
And waiting 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 their sons
Unwillingness to claim us
They’ve got no war to save us
The ones who love us best
Are the ones we 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
We are the sons of no one
Bastards of young
We are the sons of no one
Bastards of young
The daughters and their sons