Marco plays piano.
Marco’s twenty-one.
Marco is a former junkie
And a Danish actor’s son.
Marco dates a model.
Marco’s very tall.
Marco got a deal with Sony
And a gig at Carnegie Hall,

And I’m getting out.
I can tell these walls are just too high to climb.
I’m getting out.
I could work it, but I’d just be wasting time.
Just look away –
He may never be Cole Porter,
But he knows a bunch of words that sorta rhyme.
You could be blessed with perfect pitch,
You could be pretty, you could be rich,
You could get burned and you could just bitch,
But I am getting out.

Marco does a concert,
Lines around the block.
Girls are there with their midriffs bare
And the boys in a state of shock.
They sell t-shirts, posters, and autographed coasters
They’re raking in the bucks.
With everyone so happy,
Why complain that the music sucks?
I’m getting out,
Leave a little room, I’ll take my final bow,
‘Cause I’m getting out.
It’s too late to find a plastic surgeon now.
I just walk away –
After all, if fame is fleeting,
I’m too old to be competing anyhow.
You might have traded your guts for gold,
You might be missing the soul you sold,
You might wanna die before you get old,
But I am getting out.

It’s nice to be in Naples.
It’s nice to be at peace .
I’ve really had a lovely trip,
But I’m ripping up my lease,

And I’m getting out!
I have never been so bored out of my mind!
I’m getting out!
I’m escaping from this Hell that I’ve designed!
I walked away,
But I guess I’ve gotten tougher,
‘Cause I’m goin’ back to suffer with my kind.
Maybe you think I haven’t grown,
Maybe it’s what you’ve always known,
But if I can’t whine and piss and moan,
Then I am getting out!
I’m getting out!
I’m getting out!