the wutars

Well, everything costs money
But money I haven’t got
I dream of being a rock star
Working my cafe job
I like my booze’n'ciggys
And sometimes a bit of pot
Oh, honey… give me money
And I’ll be lovin’ you a lot
 
I walk up to the station
But I can’t afford my train
So I venture to the cashpoint
But I’m overdrawn again
So I’m swearing at said cashpoint
When it starts to fucking rain
Oh, honey… give me money
Please, alleviate my pain
 
Could it be?
How could it be?
I’m skint, I’m short
And I ought to know better
Than to be a liability
At nearly twenty-three
 
My friends all buy me beers
And that’s well and good and fine
But then I meet a lovely lady
Who I can’t afford to dine
You see, women – they want money
And the body, and the mind
And that’s why sex and mashed potato
Ain’t a winner every time
 
I’m late on rent
So I may have to pawn the TV…
 
I might just find this funny
In twenty-five years time
When I’m sitting in my mansion
And I’m counting all my dimes
I’ll give up drinking water
I shall only drink red wine
Oh yes, I’ll be a wealthy bastard!
… that’ll suit this boy just fine