| Bubble, bubble straight to my head
|
| The richer, the drier, I believe in the liar
|
| You’re bringin' trouble, trouble back in my bed
|
| When nobody can save me
|
| Cause the smoke is my baby, baby
|
| Mama, I got your wild-eyed ways
|
| Mama, there’s nothing you can do or say
|
| I got the rich kids blues
|
| And they got nothing to do with you
|
| I got the rich kids blues
|
| And I’m not sure that I’m pulling through
|
| Wire, wire over my head
|
| Mama, she told me keep your eyes on the trophy
|
| And the sires, sires out of your bed
|
| For delirious gestures are so easily misread
|
| Mama, I got your wild-eyed taste
|
| Mama, there’s nothing you can do or say
|
| I got the rich kids blues
|
| And they got nothing to do with you
|
| I got the rich kids blues
|
| And I’m not sure that I’m pulling through
|
| I got the rich kids blues
|
| And they got nothing to do with you
|
| I got the rich kids blues
|
| And I’m not sure that I’m pulling through
|
| Mama, I got the rich kids blues
|
| Mama, I got your wild-eyed ways
|
| Mama, I got the rich kids blues |