I know exactly how boring a grump is
’Cause I was one myself, I was never happy
I kept whining, this and that kept going wrong
And the fault was never mine
Even when morning had gold in its mouth
I crawled out of bed on the wrong side
No way I got up without a foul mood
But I switched that button off
You win the hundred meters with a good start
You win the Tour de France with a bike
With pretty words you sometimes win a heart
But you win nothing with grumpiness
I sat in a bath of pure cynicism
But I got sick of my whining
Call it a lack of realism
I threw my grumpiness out the door
You win the hundred meters with a good start
You win the Tour de France with a bike
With pretty words you sometimes win a heart
But you win nothing with grumpiness
I wonder if that's really better
And if I don't already miss my grumpiness a bit
You win the hundred meters with a good start
You win the Tour de France with a bike
With pretty words you sometimes win a heart
But you win nothing with grumpiness
A loose lace, that's a case apart
And a blowfly doesn't ride a bike
With pretty words you sometimes win a heart
But you won't fly with grumpiness
But with a blowfly you won't bear a thing
But you win nothing with grumpiness