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• Artiste: Jay Brannan
• Titre: On All Fours
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Three weeks and counting 'til he's on his way to France Not a dime in his pocket but a ticket in his hand He's a cynical bastard but there's hope in his eyes It's been a long time coming, spent a long time running from his insides He tries hard to songwrite his way out of bed But nothing tastes as clever as it sounded in his head He wants to get his teeth wet and sink his feet in He should have billions of dollars 'cause every asshole's put two cents in Chorus: And he writes the songs Yeah, he can say what he wants Yeah, he can be who he wants to And they say he's wrong But they keep tagging along Yeah, they can leave if they want to And his way will never meet yours He's got the world on his back And watch him take it on all fours Nine out of ten motherfuckers agree That his fucking foul language is a fucking travesty But motherfucking fuck is just another fucking word The idea a word is dirty is to him fucking absurd Chorus And this world will soon be the death of him And his voice will fade away And his jeans will be all that's left of him And they'll wonder if he was okay And the Alkies will say it was drinking And the preacher will say it was sin And his mother will say he was thinking only of himself again And the gays will say it was straight people And the straights will say it was AIDS And he'll be in line at the gate, people still standing in his way In his way Chorus (Thanks to Erudit for these lyrics)