Testo di Greased

All the Southern fried boys wind up greased And burn to buy the West Coast or the East They tatter their clothes and drown in irony Robbed of something young, thus incomplete They fade into the liberal bourgeoisie Their hatred now inflamed to stoke your daughter's screams And ramble about Trump over Stellas And headline Coachella And everything they told me was wrong Is still in my heart to turn me on My ego is built on all my pain I'm your migraine I somehow became a feminist When ten years ago I was feeding drinks To women, I'd laugh at when they'd think Amongst my friends It's such a lie