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Lyrics
A man devotes his life to the pursuit of wealth
For he believes this is the only needed health.
His father drilled this into his head every day:
"Son, get the highest grades and get an MBA.
Then you'll have a palatial home, a pretty wife,
A Porsche and a Mercedes--a most perfect life."
He does as he is told, and he gets all those things
As well as everything else that mere lucre brings.
Month after month, year after year,
He says to himself, "Now that I'm here,
I have all that the best man gets,
Do I have even the slightest regrets?"
He has a son of his own, teaches him the same
Philosophy of life, to play the money game;
But his son doesn't listen--he plays the guitar,
And he'll be happy singing even if not a star.
O, Father won't have this, and he berates his son
Abusively, saying, "Now I have never done
A single thing I wanted. The price of success
Is sacrifice." His son leaves home in bitterness.
Month after month, year after year,
He says to himself, "My son gave no ear
To my advice. He's now as poor as one gets.
I wonder if he has the slightest regrets?"
The son is poor indeed, for he lives in a shack
Of an apartment, and all that the son does lack
Is much more than he has: no longer has a father,
Mother, siblings, or anyone else to bother
Him; but he has cockroaches and an old guitar.
He has no stable job, nor hopes of being a star;
But when he sings and strums, a smile is on his face,
For he's found freedom from a most repressive place.
Month after month, year after year,
He says to himself, "Now that I'm here,
Though I don't have all the best man gets,
Do I have even the slightest regrets?"
