Оригинален текст
You put the sick in sycophant
You let the crowd decide your stance
You put the sick in sycophant
You wouldn't clap your hands
For fear of reprimand
Collected in a pool of fragments
You're part of a scene
A scene that's stagnant
Rejected from the other fragments
Your little scene is stagnant
You wouldn't clap your hands
For fear of reprimand
You wouldn't learn that brand-new dance
You wouldn't take a chance
They're forming a line
They're just wasting time
And if you're selling
Then I'm buying
If you're selling
You're digging a hole
And the marker reads "Rock n' Roll"
Watch it rot
Would-be damaged reprobates
Ad hoc rumpled fashion plates
Just let the 'net decide your fate
Becoming what you hate
You wouldn't clap your hands
For fear of reprimand
The gig of the week
It never fails
They follow like sheep
You play the blues
I got the blues
You're digging a hole
And the grave reads "Rock n' Roll"
Ashes to ashes
You don't know what to do at the end
Just do what you feel