Nothing to Prove - Jill Sobule

I remember laying down, it was 1983

Under the tree while listening to London Calling or something like that

Twenty-three years later, I’m here at a meeting

Trying to impress someone at a dying record company

But I got nothing to prove

And in walks in this sullen girl who looks like she’s nineteen, or wants to be

Her hair dyed black and her biker boots

Well, I did that look so many years ago

She looks at me like I’m some square or I’m her mother

Well, fuck you, kid;

I’ve got nothing to prove

Nothing to prove

Nothing to prove

Once I was as miserable as you

Nothing to prove

Nothing to prove

I got nothing to prove

Here I am in Los Angeles

I came here two years ago

And everyone’s young and beautiful, and their skin’s so smooth

And everyone’s in the industry, and I hate when they use that word

And when they say they’re in the industry, I say, «Oh, are you in steel?»

Well, I got nothing to prove

Nothing to prove

Nothing to prove

Once I was as miserable as you

Nothing to prove

Nothing to prove

I got nothing to prove

Later that week I saw that same girl shopping at the Trader Joe’s

She was with a big bomb blonde, and I wondered if it was her girlfriend

And to my surprise, she ran up to me and smiled and said, «I loved our meeting»

Well, I was wrong about her

But usually I’m right

Well, I’ve got nothing to prove

Nothing to prove

Nothing to prove

Once I was as miserable as you

Nothing to prove

Nothing to prove

I got nothing to prove