Jay Brannan - On All Fours

Three weeks and counting ‘till 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

It’s been a long time running from his insides

He tries hard to songwrite his way out of bed

But nothing tastes and 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 ass hole’s put two cents in

But 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 his back

And watch him take it

On all fours

Nine out of ten mother fuckers agree

That his fucking foul language

Is a fucking travesty

But mother fucking fuck is just another fucking word

The idea a word is dirty is too in-fucking-absurd

But 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 his back

And watch him take it

On all fours

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 alchys will say it was d