Six of one, a half a dozen
Black guitars and plastic blues
Hide behind a wall of nothing
Nothing said and nothing new
Four chords that made a million
You belong there on the cover
You are the emperor in new clothes
A man who thinks he owns the future
Will sell you a vacuum with his prose
Four chords that made a million
And then a moron with a cheque book
Will take you out to lunch, who knows?
He will tell you you're a saviour
And then he'll drop you like a stone
Four chords that made a million
And I have tried and I have died
Trying to get through
But in the end I can't defend you
Four chords that made a million