He writes the songs, for the people
He writes the songs, I don't think so
He plays guitar, and looks sexy
You go to shows, who's the dummy

Buy, buy, American pie
A corporate made creation so god awful I could cry
Last song sounded as bad as the first
How could you pay more to do worse
Don't forget all the common people
There is no hell to pay, there is no good or evil
The limo ride downtown
With all of your security keep the fans at bay
Protect your punk monopoly

Punkout

He plays the crap, with no conviction
He plays the crap, no one will miss him
There must be a point, we find it funny
There must be a hole, for all your money