My father lifted me upon his shoulders I could see the whole of our street The wrought iron gates of all the tiny empires That marked where their dominions were complete Their bicycles, their dirty Morris Minor Their garages with automatic doors And he said "Someday, son Someday son None of this will be yours" The Devil, well, he took me on a picnic Showed me all the kingdoms of the earth Pulled me up a spreadsheet of their riches Calculated what each king was worth When he knew I could resist no longer Like the little boy who asked for more Well, he said "Someday, son Someday son None of this will be yours" None of the money And none of the sun None of the honey, you'll only get stung None of the pleasure None of the fun Of the fun Of the fun Of the fun No, no, no Now I wake up laughing every morning Guess I finally managed to adjust I've done away with fear and disillusion Hopelessness, corruption, and disgust And now I have a child in New York City Crawling cross the carpet on the floor And I say "Someday, son Someday son None of that will be yours Someday, son None of that will be yours"