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've got nothing to prove
And in walks in this sullen girl, who looks like she's 19 or wants to be
With her biker boots and her hair dyed black, I did that look so many years ago
She looks at me like I'm some square or I'm like her mother
Well, fuck you, kid, I've got nothing to prove
 
Nothing to prove, nothing to prove
Once I was a miserable as you
Nothing to prove, nothing to prove
I've got nothing to prove
 
And here I am in Los Angeles, I came here two years ago
And everyone's young and beautiful and their skin is so smooth
And everyone's in the industry and I hate when they use that word
And when they tell me they're in the industry I ask, Oh, are you in steel?
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've got nothing to prove
 
And later that week, I saw that same girl shopping at the Trader Joe's on La Brea
She was with a big-boned blond and I wondered if it was her girlfriend
Surprisingly, she came up to me and smiled and said, she loved our meeting
Maybe I judged her wrong, but usually I'm right
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'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've got nothing to prove

Copyright: BMG Rights Management, SCHUBERT MUSIC PUBLISHING INC.
Writer(s): Jill Sobule, Robin Eaton