I can't find the words they can't find me, and even if I could it'd be, damn near impossible to preach what's on my mind.
That I can't seem to see the scene I seek, or sow my seat onto the peak, to build a thrown above the meek, I'll be the Indie Gandhi.
He didn't need P.R. to take his message far.
Still I can't seem to make you understand, that being in an Indie band, is no about PBR cans, so stick down your noses.
And you can't be too serious or sad, no one needs your damn demands, and after shows you just shake friends hand, and your ego grows it.
Seems that no one knows, where they're trying to go. But me, but you're so trendy (and pretentious/it's delicious)

Chorus: I'm Mohatama Gandhi in the flesh, brand a V across my chest, keep my mustache shave the rest, I'll be an Indie icon.
And I'm so DIY it hurts to breath, so roll up both your flannel sleeves, and bow to me down on your knees, I'm the Indie Gandhi.

Hipster, you think that you're so sweet! You think I care how tight your jeans hug your meat? You think I care that your knowledge of bands is elite?

Born in 1869 AD. I resisted British tyranny. But they shot me one night in New Delhi. Indie, India. Keep your Union to yourself, go burn and rot in hell.