There's a place in the world for the angry young Ann
With her working class ties and her radical plans
She refuses to bend, she refuses to crawl,
She's always at home with her back to the wall.
And she's proud of her scat and the cookies she's lost,
And she struggles and bleeds as she hangs on the cross-
And she likes to be known as the angry young Ann.
Give a moment or two to the angry young Ann,
With her food in her mouth and her beer in her hand.
She's been stabbed in the back, she's been misunderstood,
It's a comfort to know her Margarittas are good.
And she sits in a room with a lock on the door,
With her helmet and lollipop laid out on the floor-
And she likes to be known as the angry young Ann.
I believe I've passed the age of consciousness and righteous rage
I found that just surviving was a noble fight.
I once believed in causes too,
I had my pointless point of view,
And life went on no matter who was wrong or right.
And there's always a place for the angry young Ann,
With her fist in her hair and her head in the John.
And she's never been able to learn from mistakes,
So she can't understand why her mug always breaks.
But her honor is pure and her courage as well,
And she's fair and she's true and she's drunker than hell-
And she'll go to the barstool as an angry old Ann.