We were talking and remarking,
the mighty have fallen.
They're knocking 'em down.
Open season.
There's just no pleasin',
it's practically treason to win in this town.
I never wanted to be
part of their petite bourgeoisie.
How low, how low, how low can you go?
Bad relations. Sad occasions.
Unfriendly persuasion. "Just look at the time!"
False impressions. Endless questions.
The least indiscretions are capital crime.
Though you're important to me
you don't get open sesame.

How low, how low, how low can you go?
But you're no better than me.
Don't tell me how it's meant to be.
How low, how low, how low can you go?