| I hadn’t a care as a millionaire,
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| I was always overspent.
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| I owned a penthouse pied a terre
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| On the nicer side of Eton Square,
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| And a country house for the country air,
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| And an acre or two in Kent.
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| Now it’s not the same since the baliffs came,
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| And all my belongings went.
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| I always knew I would rue the day,
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| And now I scrimp to pay my way,
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| In genteel poverty,
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| Bleak and grey,
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| In a semi-detached I rent.
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| For we’re the nouveau poor,
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| The wolf is at our door.
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| We’re in Buck’s Peerage
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| We’re in Who’s Who.
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| We’re in the red,
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| And in penury too.
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| But that’s not new no more,
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| Now we’re the nouveau poor.
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| I was overly rash when I had the cash,
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| And I seldom kept the score.
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| If I ever lost such a mand affair,
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| I would simply cash in a stock or share.
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| Or sell some family silverware,
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| There was always plenty more.
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| When funds ran dry,
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| I found that I,
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| Had bills I could not ignore,
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| And I paid off debts to several banks,
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| And joining the ever-swelling ranks,
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| Of the genteel nouveau poor.
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| For we’re the nouveau poor,
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| The wolf is at our door.
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| We’re in Buck’s Peerage
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| We’re in Who’s Who.
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| We’re in the red,
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| And in penury too.
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| Now that’s not new no more,
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| Oh we’re the nouveau poor.
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| The nouveau poor,
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| Are an awful bore,
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| We have lost our rich veneer.
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| We used to dine out everyday on caviar and steak bombay.
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| And now it’s Chinese take-away,
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| Washed down with home brewed beer.
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| We hope and pray that one fine day,
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| Our wealth will be restored.
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| We dream of the Rolls we kept for best,
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| And our liveried chauffeur, smartly dressed,
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| As we fix the flag with the family crest,
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| On the front of our clapped-out Ford.
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| For we’re the nouveau poor,
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| The move is at our door.
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| We’re in Buck’s Peerage
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| We’re in Who’s Who.
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| We’re in the red,
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| And in penury too.
|
| But that’s not new no more,
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| Now we’re the nouveau,
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| Nouveau povre,
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| Please move over,
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| We’re the nouveau
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| Dabba, dabba, dabba, dabba dabba, da da,
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| Yeah! |