Wake up, my boynPut on some clothesnAnd keep on going till you're dead or oldnYou see, life's about death and death's about lifenDon't challenge the system, it ain't worth the strifennSpeak up, my boynMake yourself heardnYou're just a vegetable when you don't say a wordnYou see, talking's the key, listening's overratednThere ain't nothing to hear but politics and radionnStart reading those books, boynGet yourself learnednUse your time wise, though you've plenty to burnnYou see, you read while you're young and write when you're oldnTake the knowledge you're forced, only play when you're toldnnDrink up, my boynRum, rum, rum, rum, rumnYou're too young to worry, yet too old for funnYou see, advice can only take you so far in life's fightnBut take a few shots and you're set for the nightnnTake the train downtownnSport some nice clothesnAnd don't stop working till you're dead or oldnYou see, all work and no play makes you a rich boynSpend the big bucks and show off your toysnnFind a girl, my boynAnd make her your wifenMake sure you get along well, 'cause, well, you're stuck for lifenYou see, love ain't that important, it's just what they saynJust find a good bitch who won't get in the waynnHave a son, my boynPass on the namenForget blocks and letters, raise him for famenWhat he wants don't matter, take it from men'Cause you ain't worth a damn without a legacy Finally, my boynYou got time to restnTill boredom or sickness leads you to deathnYou got the freedom that you yearned for as a childnBut your smile's gone; you're too old and tirednnSo you sit in your wheelchairnAt the end of the hallnDrooling on your bib and wondering how it allnWent by sonFastnnWell, I'll tell you, my boynI just found out myselfnWe wrote our lives in chapters on scattered shelvesnYou see, life ain't in paragraphs, phrases or wordsnIt's in every single letter of one big booknnIt's all you've ever seennAll you've ever dreamednAll you've cried for, laughed for,nShouted and screamednFornnAnd you ask, my boynWhat's it all mean?nThe crying, the laughing, those fleeting dreams?nThough there's a pretty big chance that I could be wrongnI think you've listened to me for far too longnnWe're just making our waynThrough an endless trainnWith no real conductors, only some self-proclaimednWe're all searching for the best path to the caboosenBut the end don't matter, it's each car's viewnnIt ain't too latenTo have a look, my boynSo have a look, my boynAnd choose your ownnCaboose