Why can't I be like all the other kids? They all have three-bedroom homes Broken trucks on their lawns And cut-up hot dogs for lunch It's not my fault my parents succeed so much There's no one in town I can relate to I play with autographed baseball bats While everyone else just plays with sticks and pine cones Has a boy ever felt so alone? Well, who needs them anyway? I won't pretend to be something I'm not If I can't be poor, I've got to deal with what I've got If I can't be like them, what I need is more rich kids around So I'm not the only one, and then I won't be so down Please, God, send more rich kids To my Town
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