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Is There A Way Out?

de Rare Americans

Ten, ten, ten
Nine times out of ten
You know how it ends
You know how it ends, ends, ends

All we want in this life is a guitar and a mic
And a full count, baby, three balls, two strikes
Twitchy kid in class, skin, bones, buck teeth
A mask, Oscar Wilde, the truth beneath, you asked
Learned our scales, learned when we failed
Know we got a sound that ain't going stale
And we ain't on sale, independant as fuck
EL-P wannabes
Motherfucking bang for your buck
You poor guys make bucket lists
Rare Americans, we take fuckin' risks

It's a different way to live
It's a different way to live
No, we don't five a fuck about critics cats
Let us get through to you
We're are the man in the arena
And there's always someone eager to boo at you

Ten, ten, ten
Nine times out of ten
You know how it ends
(You know how it ends)
We can sing, motherfucker
We're the real McCoy

We have a presence on stage, we're JT LeRoy
We're the musical embodiment of D.B. cooper
Drop parachute lines, people in a stupor
We weren't worth betting on?
Like some kinda green monkey?

On the fatness scale, we're fucking chunky
You poor guys make bucket lists
Rare Americans, we take fuckin' risks
It's a different way to live
It's a different way to live

No, we don't five a fuck about critics cats
Let us get through to you
We're are the man in the arena
And there's always someone eager to boo at you

No, we don't five a fuck about critics cats
Let us get through to you
We're are the man in the arena
And there's always someone eager to boo at you

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