Young man on slumdog street
All week worked flesh to bone
To see the evening show
Up in the slumdog seats
And so sick of the front row
He's God's message for the high class folk
You're not flying high, your sky is low
Like making angels out of crows
Look out, it's your average working man
Locked up on slumdog row
Somehow he feels more free
They ask how this should be
He tells 'em
I felt like a wrong note
When no one's listening
Well I made my masterpiece
(Now you're the ones out of key)
I'm tired of getting by on your pills and dope
While you're getting high on my bills and loans
Look out, it's your average working man
Yeah, he's a hero inside of his head
Loaded up on the words that they said
Ammunitional thoughts till they're dead
I am the prodigal son
The fucking chosen one
Of all the never-beens and never-wills and no one's
My sins will be forgiven
By all the under-livins
I'm just a whore for the working class villains
Sincerely, your average working man
I'm just your average working man
