14/11/2009

You pinch yourself
You pinch again
You check your numbers
Check again.
You scream, you shout.
You kiss the dog
You catch your breath
And think now what

Now I’ve got 2000 shoes
Now I’ve got a private Zoo

I’m just so sick of this money
I don’t know what to do with it all
It just keeps growing and growing.
It’s become such a drag and a chore.

I’ve got one car, two car, three car, four
One house, two house, three house, more.
I’ve got a PA, a PPA, a cook and a cleaner
Founded a foundation for dyslexic Lemurs

Oh but then the phone rings, its such a terrible bore
A little voice on the line says “you’ve got even more.
More, more.

Its raining money, Its bucketing cash
I celebrate, I ‘treat myself’
But it itches and chafes like an irritating rash

I’ve had enough lobster
I’m sick of champagne
No one else is rich around here
Its started erroding a hole in my brain

So I sneak down the pub on the Karaoke night
But in my gold Lame tracksuit
It doesn’t feel right.

“Oh here comes money bags!”
“Lend us a tenner mate”

So I drive to the docks
In my stretch limousine
And I look to the sunset
And I dryly contemplate

Why my family are twitchy
And my friends have lost the plot
As I stand with my tan asking
“how much is too much?”
On the bridge of my sunset yacht.
(listening to Slade)