They want more of you for less and that's how it swings,
the pretty lady plays me a song, but I don't know the words so
I hum along,
they want to see and never hear, want you begging somewhere at the rear in the penny stalls and it falls into that they don't want you at all.

If I could play the banjo or maybe the ukelele I'd be sweet, I wouldn't have to meet the scowls of howling managers with jowls so slack they look as if they're going when they're really coming back and the pretty lady plays a song,
it's for me,
a little bit of harmony among all this insanity and tomorrow if it comes on time they'll be waiting there all prim and primed to shoot.

Do I give a hoot?

If they want more of me for less of me we'll see how much they get and I bet it won't be much,
I touch wood for luck and **** 'em,
that the way it swings and the pretty lady sings for me,
things are looking up.