Why can't I be like all the other kids?
They all have three-bedroom homes
Broken trucks on their lawns
And cut-up hot dogs for lunch
It's not my fault my parents succeed so much
There's no one in town I can relate to
I play with autographed baseball bats
While everyone else just plays with sticks and pine cones
Has a boy ever felt so alone?
Well, who needs them anyway?
I won't pretend to be something I'm not
If I can't be poor, I've got to deal with what I've got
If I can't be like them what I need is more rich kids around
So I'm not the only one, and then I won't be so down
Please, God, send more rich kids to my town