I've been dreaming of a record deal, since
I was a trackstar, but you won't read that in your Rolling Stone.
Cause my press agent says to tell you
"I really don't know" and "I don't care if we make it big or if we don't".
But why can't I be as miserable as He.
Why can't I be found in the room above my garage.
pitiful me. get drunk. check the sound.
play the show. drive all night.
And I've been listening to too many records by Pearl Jam cause my little sister won't stop playing that shit.
And I've proved better than Eddie Vedder it isn't what you know- it's MTV and how much money that your company blows.
Now I made millions off the record deal and gave away the proceeds.
You can hear that on the Week in Rock.
And I've proved better that it doesn't matter what you believe- ribbons on my sleeve- it's how much money the publicity brings.
