My name is Johnny St. Lethal
I'm 28 years old and I wrote me a novel
It's called Twenty Something and the cover is grey text on black
Like Belly of the Beast by Jack Abbott
And if you look at me and my book, you'll see that I wear my influences on my sleeve
The Beatnik poets, man, Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg and Neal Cassady
I sport dark shades and a worn black leather jacket
And project an attitude that says "Hey, I don't give a shit"
And I get more pussy than Vince Neil got in 1983
And I gave my book to Mark Kozelek at the front row in Philadelphia the other night and he high fived me
He said, "Hey, what's your name?" I said "Johnny St. Lethal"
He said "Wow, that's a cool name, man, you're my biggest hero
But your life is just beginning and you're just finding your feet in this world
And your shtick's limited to impressing 19 year old girls from Williamsburg
The sweet spot for a man lasts from about 27 to 33
And trust me, the magic dust starts fading when you're approaching 40
Right now the girls tell you they got a boyfriend at the end of the night, right?
Well, in your late 40s they tell you that information right up front, whether it's true or not"

Throughout my life I've met lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of people
But I've never met anyone quite like Johnny St. Lethal
He's on top of the world with his Adam's apple
And his Billy Joe Armstrong look and his black paperback novel
But Johnny kept talking during my show and hooting and hollering
So I gave him fifty Norwegian kroners
To trade places with a pleasant young girl down the row
Who was sweet and kind and mild-mannered
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