| Ripples in my soup’s got me dreaming
|
| Ten pounds on the side, baby sitting nice
|
| She’s twenty-five, she’s quite a sight
|
| She lets me stay up 'til we see headlights
|
| And sugar drops go the extra mile
|
| When you’re the son of an only child
|
| Yea-ea-ea-eah
|
| Saturday night and I’m drinking
|
| Some guy at the bar’s got me thinking I’m cross
|
| Oh, I’m cross
|
| Hold me back
|
| Hold me back like I’m about to attack
|
| Oh, I’m yours
|
| And I’m fucking wild
|
| I’m the son of an only child
|
| Yea-ea-ea-eah, yea-ea-ea-eah
|
| And I feel like celebrating and they’re already decorating
|
| Sticking on the other draft, no doubt
|
| And the baby-boomer's crying
|
| 'Cause his champagne flute is dying
|
| Sticking on the other draft, out of shame
|
| Taking all the toys off the counter
|
| You’ve got something special about you
|
| So come on, smile
|
| You’re such a mess
|
| How can you be sad when you’re simply the best?
|
| Let’s run away
|
| In your daddy’s car
|
| I’m sick of singing 'bout my broken heart
|
| I’m a rocket man
|
| And I’m a juvenile
|
| I’m the son of an only child
|
| Oh, yeah
|
| Yea-ea-ea-eah, yea-ea-ea-eah |