| So he rode across the country
|
| In a squad of limousines
|
| So he galloped through the pages
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| Of a thousand magazines
|
| Here’s the guitar in his hand
|
| Here are the women by his side
|
| They’re fresh-fucked from the bus bunk-bed
|
| They’re giving head through that long ride
|
| And here’s the monster in his hair
|
| All the young girls knew was there
|
| And they loved him fiercely for it
|
| Millionaire
|
| The scene it opens sombrely
|
| A black and burnt-out scar
|
| Across the whole entire country
|
| And here comes the child star
|
| His striding eyes on fire
|
| Through a broken blazing field
|
| He’s close to tears, eyes all sincere
|
| With all the influence he wields
|
| He is entreating us
|
| His cheeks all flushed
|
| A dead wind in his hair
|
| Well we appreciate your efforts
|
| Millionaire
|
| Oh, millionaire
|
| Clap your hands and give a stunned and silent stare
|
| Oh, millionaire
|
| Strike a chord, smack a tom, I just don’t care
|
| Ring a polished gong
|
| For the master now he’s plastered
|
| Now he’s on the runway in his robe
|
| Having circled half the globe
|
| For priests and politicians
|
| Seeking wisdom he might share
|
| They’re all locked safely up inside
|
| That millionaire
|
| Say a toast with glasses raised into the air
|
| Oh, millionaire
|
| He’s much happier than you and he’s a million times as rare
|
| There’s a glint up in the small eyes
|
| Of the mouth upon the screen
|
| Between some teeth a speech repeated
|
| From the liquid crystal stream
|
| In strides a smiling, long-time rival
|
| In a drab, grey cotton smock
|
| He’s heard it all before he says
|
| It’s all just lies, it’s all just talk
|
| Just this one time I will believe him
|
| But I know that it’s a choice
|
| And I’m aware, but just don’t care
|
| I sign my name, I raise my voice
|
| And fall disabling all the alarms
|
| Overwhelmed by all his charms
|
| Into the warm arms of another millionaire |