Lyrics:

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 forgottenWe are the sons of no one, bastards of youngWe are the sons of no one, bastards of young The daughters and the sonsClean your baby womb, trash that baby boomElvis in the ground, there'll ain't no beer tonightIncome tax deduction, what a hell of a functionIt beats pickin' cotton and waitin' to be forgottenWe are the sons of no one, bastards of youngWe are the sons of no one, bastards of youngThe daughters and the sonsUnwillingness to claim us, ya got no word (war?) to name usThe ones who love us best are the ones we'll lay to restAnd visit their graves on holidays at best The ones who love us least are the ones we'll die to pleaseIf it's any consolation, I don't begin to understand themWe are the sons of no one, bastards of youngWe are the sons of no one, bastards of youngThe daughters and the sonsYoung...take it, it's yours...