Young man on slumdog street

All week worked flesh to bone

To see the evening show

Up in the slumdog seats

And so sick of the front row

He's God's message for the high class folk

You're not flying high, your sky is low

Like making angels out of crows

Look out, it's your average working man

Locked up on slumdog row

Somehow he feels more free

They ask how this should be

He tells 'em

I felt like a wrong note

When no one's listening

Well I made my masterpiece

(Now you're the ones out of key)

I'm tired of getting by on your pills and dope

While you're getting high on my bills and loans

Look out, it's your average working man

Yeah, he's a hero inside of his head

Loaded up on the words that they said

Ammunitional thoughts till they're dead

I am the prodigal son

The f*****g chosen one

Of all the never-beens and never-wills and no one's

My sins will be forgiven

By all the under-livins

I'm just a w***e for the working class villains

Sincerely, your average working man

I'm just your average working man