Tell me, does it feel
to be sittin' in luxury's land
Where the money tree grows and
And the champagne's
always on tap
Tell me how does it feel
To be breathing that rarefied air
Way up in the level
Where only the devil may care
Where those who have
And those who have so much to stand in a line
to meet the man with the Midas touch.
From the bottom of the valley,
they run to the top of the heap.
With lots of bourbon and Valium
to put the sad winners to sleep.
All those poor rich people
They have to find a reason
for everything they do
All of those poor rich people
All of that grief just makes them
blue
All those poor rich people
They have to find a reason
for everything they do
All those poor rich people,
all of that greed just makes them blue
So they juggle the books
and redistribute the wealth
And all of that juggling is hazardous
to your health
When the ashtrays are full,
then we'll sell the car for scrap
Buy one more tax bill today,
like I was saying
… …
… … …
Oh, those poor rich people
Oh, those poor rich people
I'm the one, don't call me stupid
And ten -four, good buddy,
whoever the hell you were.
That was incredible.
Perfect.