You think I buttoned my shirt for the hipster club
Washed my conduct for the Soma club
Came in the back door not a limousine
I know my class, I know my enemies
Hep cat pats my back while he checks my teeth
I won't kiss his ass on bended knee
The conversation is stocks and funds
How do you do? Hope you're doing well?
Who's this band? I heard no buzz
There's the man, you know what he does
Put the gear in the alley, thank you
Don't hurry back soon
I can't position, I can't crawl
That one night was plenty enough
This whore-ing gets to be just too much
I know my class and I know my enemies

— A simple kinda pop punk jab at playing the upscale clubs. As a band you want to do it, but if you're nobody, even 12 pints don't take the bad taste outta your mouth. This is in reference to Strawman opening for Jawbreaker four years ago at Slims in SF. The band were gracious friends but couldn't convince the club we were 'allowed' to store our gear inside. Diane almost kicked the soundman's ass.