Nothing to Prove

I remember laying down, it was 1983
Under the tree while listening to London Calling or something like that
Twenty-three years later, I’m here at a meeting
Trying to impress someone at a dying record company
But I got nothing to prove
And in walks in this sullen girl who looks like she’s nineteen, or wants to be
Her hair dyed black and her biker boots
Well, I did that look so many years ago
She looks at me like I’m some square or I’m her mother
Well, fuck you, kid; I’ve got nothing to prove
Nothing to prove
Nothing to prove
Once I was as miserable as you
Nothing to prove
Nothing to prove
I got nothing to prove
Here I am in Los Angeles
I came here two years ago
And everyone’s young and beautiful, and their skin’s so smooth
And everyone’s in the industry, and I hate when they use that word
And when they say they’re in the industry, I say, «Oh, are you in steel?»
Well, I got nothing to prove
Nothing to prove
Nothing to prove
Once I was as miserable as you
Nothing to prove
Nothing to prove
I got nothing to prove
Later that week I saw that same girl shopping at the Trader Joe’s
She was with a big bomb blonde, and I wondered if it was her girlfriend
And to my surprise, she ran up to me and smiled and said, «I loved our meeting»
Well, I was wrong about her
But usually I’m right
Well, I’ve got nothing to prove
Nothing to prove
Nothing to prove
Once I was as miserable as you
Nothing to prove
Nothing to prove
I got nothing to prove