Bastard Son of Elvis

Twenty years pretending
On a tour that’s never-ending
In a jacket that is lending more to comedy
A local press pictorial
A Burger King memorial
A test for DNA that went disasteredly the wrong way
You’re the bastard son of Elvis
Jesus, what a bastard thing to be
Bastard son of Elvis
He clipped you round the ear
In his Las Vegas gear
When you were three
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Oh, yeah