I don’t have an income (it would interfere with my freedom)
I have no occupation and not even a profession
I have no plans to get one cause I’m lacking all ambition
And I don’t take no orders so I’ll never get promotion

I don’t like pedigrees
Or bowing for the elderly
I loathe fine traditions
Like begging for her hand

Lady Bracknell, may I marry your daughter?
Your Highness, may I marry your daughter?

I don’t like the hippies or the punks, the Armani men
Art dealers, drug dealers, right wingers, left wingers
People stuck in the past, the future or the present
I do like individuals but I’ve never really met one

I have no opinions (and if I did you wouldn’t like ‘em)
I have no tolerance
With stupidity or ignorance
And least of all with intolerance

I contradict myself in every breath but at least I always tell the truth

Lady Bracknell, may I marry your daughter?
Your Highness, may I merry your daughter?