| Rolling along the street like an empty carton
 | 
| Mouthing words to music no one else can hear
 | 
| Rolling in the gutter like a stolen hubcap
 | 
| The force field means no one comes near
 | 
| I’ve got a right to fly
 | 
| But you’re wrong to bring me down
 | 
| I got my head in the clouds
 | 
| And my feet on the ground
 | 
| I’ve got a right to fly
 | 
| And you’re wrong to bring me down
 | 
| I’ve got a right to fly
 | 
| Try and engage some conversation but people’s teeth grind
 | 
| And heckles rise and then they get that glazed look in there eyes
 | 
| They press a tarnished coin into my greasy mitt
 | 
| My clothes catch the rain, the sun, the sweat
 | 
| I’ve got a right to fly
 | 
| But you’re wrong to bring me down
 | 
| I got my head in the clouds
 | 
| And my feet on the ground
 | 
| I’ve got a right to fly
 | 
| And you’re wrong to bring me down
 | 
| I’ve got a right to fly
 | 
| One less soldier behind the shield of offense
 | 
| Mind grows propellers and pilots and retro rockets
 | 
| Taking off to where the alley wind and says
 | 
| I’ve got a right to fly
 | 
| But you’re wrong to bring me down
 | 
| I got my head in the clouds
 | 
| And my feet on the ground
 | 
| I’ve got a right to fly
 | 
| And you’re wrong to bring me down
 | 
| I got my head in the clouds
 | 
| And my feet on the ground
 | 
| I’ve got a right to fly
 | 
| I’ve got a right to fly
 | 
| But you’re wrong to bring me down
 | 
| I got my head in the clouds
 | 
| And my feet on the ground
 | 
| I’ve got a right to fly
 | 
| And you’re wrong to bring me down
 | 
| I got my head in the clouds
 | 
| And my feet on the ground
 | 
| I’ve got a right to fly
 | 
| But you’re wrong to bring me down
 | 
| I’ve got a right to fly
 | 
| And you’re wrong to bring me down
 | 
| I’ve got a right to fly
 | 
| I’ve got a right to fly |