Uh-oh!

Young man on slum dog street
All week worked flesh to bone
To see the evening show
Up in the slum dog seats
So sick of the front row
He's God's message to the high-class folk

You're not flying high, your sky is low
Like making angels out of crows
Look out! It's your average working man! Uh-oh!

Locked up on slum dog row
Somehow he feels more free
They ask how this should be
He tells them, I felt like a wrong note
When no one's listening (when no one's listening!)
I made my master piece (now you're the ones out of key!)

Tired of getting by on your pills and dope
While you're getting high on my bills and loans
Look out! It's your average working man! Uh-oh!

Ah, he's a hero inside of his head
Loaded up on the words that they said
Ammunitional thoughts to lay dead, dead, dead! Uh-oh!

I am the prodigal son, the fucking chosen one
Of all the never-beens, the never-wills, the no-ones
Lost ones will be forgiven by all the underlivings
I'm just a whore for the working class villains

Sincerely, your average working man! Uh-oh!
I'm just your average working man! Uh-oh!