Out of the rain, burst in through the front door, soaking and bleeding again, I hit the floor spinning, backpack on my back, it’s weighing me down, weighing me down, weighing me down.
I think it’s that I don’t know kids, and they don’t know me, but I know one thing: that I’m safer in my room. I’ve got the Internet; I meet friends on MSN, friends’s friends, friends’s friends, who tell me they’ll put stuff in your backpack that’ll scare the shit out of kids that chase you in the street. That’d help me out. That’d help me out. That’d help me out. And that’d help me out.
But after a while, I get tired. They try to get me to study, but I’ve got things to do. I’ve got homework, too.
Cos they don’t know my dad, but he’s this town through and through: old-school 50-something balding racist, and so his mates are too.
Chorus: But me, I’m a modern man. Me, I’m a modern man. I’m a modern man. I’m a modern man.
I think I’m intelligent, I think I’m open-minded. And I think I’ve got a worldview, and there’re not many people like me round here, I can tell you. And I think I’m the future. And I think I’m dead if I lose track.
Cos they don’t know my dad, but he’s this town through and through: old-school 50-something balding racist, and so his mates are too.