Perhaps what those lyrics really mean is this: if a true rocker consorts with devils, but owes them nothing... And pays lip service to the Man, but does not sell out... Then he can sing whatever the hell he wants, and everyone who listens will experience some brief surrogate of his freedom.
Rock on, dude.
Out of old habit, you pocket Oddy's wallet, his cigarettes, and his cellphone. And you take a swig from his secret hip flask.
That's so Mendo...