Where Have All The Originals Gone (I Want To Be Pete Wentz)

Walking down the street,
It's Friday afternoon.
I see them standing there,
I don't know what to do.
A congregation of twenty three,
I have to stop and laugh with glee.

I hear their headphones blaring,
They bop their heads to the beat.
And all I can think is one thing,
Last name: Wentz, First name: Pete.

Perfect hair,
Cute Face.
Unrelentless fan base.
Girl's jeans,
One scene.

I'm gonna be Pete Wentz,
I've gotta be the dream.
I'm gonna be Pete Wentz
because I'm so fucking scene.

They've got style,
They've got grace.
Their identities have been erased,
Converse high tops,
Pants cut low.
Make up coats their face,
And feelings, they never show.

Speech is laced with "dece" and "totes"
They write their lyrics on post-it notes.
Rainbow braceletes,
Golf shirts (two sizes too small),

Clandestine merch
Bass guitars.
They all wannabe rock stars,

Listen to the words as they sing once more.

Perfect hair,
Cute Face.
Unrelentless fan base.
Girl's jeans,
One scene.

I'm gonna be Pete Wentz,
I've gotta be the dream.
I'm gonna be Pete Wentz
because I'm so fucking scene.

Should I tell them that they're fake,
Should I burst their little bubbles.
Reality is calling,
So how come they're not falling,
Through the cracks?

They make themselves over with glitz and glam,
Black nail polish adorns their hands.
And let's not forget the tattoos,
Which are even worse than the shoes.

I'm gonna be beautiful,
I'm gonna be hot.
I'm gonna be something that I'm not.

I'll fit in,
I'll be so cool,
I'll make all the look-a-likes drool.

I'm gonna be Pete Wentz,
I've gotta be the dream.
I'm gonna be Pete Wentz
because I'm so fucking scene.

God, they're all such wannabes,
Oh well, they'll probably get hit by a bus anyway...