I'm a writer
I've got a bit of a problem
I picked up some moves in my youth
But I'm scared that I've lost them

Cause I'm three years past twenty
And suddenly everyone's starting to wonder
If I keep digging do I keep dying?
Do I quit trying to write this book?

I'm sick of being second best
I'm tired of third and fourth and the rest

Here it is: I may have some writer's block
But I'm still useful to you
I'd stick up for you in fights
And I'd sing to you at night (ah huh)

It gets a little bit lonely
I picked up some nerves in my ruth
And I'm scared that they own me
Cause I'm three years past twenty
And suddenly everyone's starting to wonder
If I keep living do I keep lying?
Do I quit trying to make this work?

I'm sick of being second best
I'm tired of third and fourth and the rest

Here it is: I may have some writer's block
But I'm still useful to you
I'd stick up for you in fights
And I'd sing to you at night
But only my old songs... only my old songs.

I'm sick of being second best
I'm tired of third and fourth and the rest

Here it is: I may have some writer's block
But I'm still useful to you
I may have some writer's block
But I'm still useful to you
I'd stick up for you in fights
And I'd sing to you at night.