After I have written all the songs inside my head
Will I be an average son
A mediocre husband and, a pretty shitty friend
Not much use to anyone
After I have written all the songs inside my head
Will I like what I've become
Or wake without the reason for to rise up from my bed
Burn like a vampire from the sun
Some men have their greatness thus upon them
Some are snakes and conmen
But what I am is worse
Hitch myself a ride on each bandwagon
Just to hide me draggin'
My belly though the dirt
After I have written all the songs inside my head I'll do some real work
After I have written all the songs inside my head I'll do some real work
After I have written all the songs inside my head
Will I still mean as much to you
For what's a down town boy without, the ink inside his pen
Besides a classless fool
Some men have their greatness thus upon them
Some are snakes and conmen
But what I am is worse
Hitch myself a ride on each bandwagon
Just to hide me draggin'
My belly though the dirt
After I have written all the songs inside my head I'll do some real work
After I have written all the songs inside my head I'll do some real work
Who cares for the voice of a man in his 50's
Still dragging his wife along for the ride
Each stage getting smaller along with the riches
Still no sign of the kids, by their sides
