 This week's cash
For last week's grass
You [coo-ka-late?]
Or you sit in the van and wait
Gassed and trashed and smashed
Your cat's roasting away
So, on a sunny summer day, oh, we're okay
An August night anyway
And you're living on air
Well, on the 25th floor up there
They fan a million bucks before your face
Marie's passed out in a chair
With they once fussed over her hair
All must end too and I've just been fucked [...?]
Just an hour before she crashed
All the cash
She said "I'm done with looking back"
And you look your age
Which is 37, by the way
And I'm 28
Fucking let them stare
Cause at this point, I don't care
I have been your bride stripped bare since '98
And our silver screen affair
It weighs less to me than air
It's a gas now, it's a laugh just how far several mil' can take it
This week's fast is last week's flash of interstate
When you starved and never ate
This week's flashed a sick gold cast across your face
As you roam on silk, we'll tippy-toe alone through silver lay
As you stride a snow white mare
On a non-stop all-night tear/terror
What a ghastly sight you'll smear in every face
And that […?] affair
That your lawyer lets you wear
You'll destroy your chance to ever get repeatedly engaged
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