9 Times out of 10 - Rare Americans

Ten, ten, ten

Nine times out of ten

You know how it ends

You know how it 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

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

Independent as fuck

EL-P wanna be’s

Mother fucking bang 4 your buck

You poor guys

Make bucket lists

Rare Americans

We take fuckin' risk

It’s a different way to live

It’s a different way to live

No, we don’t give a fuck

About critics cats

Let us get through to you

We’re 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 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 are fucking chunky

You poor guys

Make bucket lists

Rare Americans

We take fuckin' risk

It’s a different way to live

It’s a different way to live

No, we don’t give a fuck

About critics cats

Let us get through to you

We’re the man in the arena

And there’s always

Someone eager to

Boo at you

No, we don’t give a fuck

About critics cats

Let us get through to you

We’re the man in the arena

And there’s always

Someone eager to

Boo at you