This weeks cash for last weeks grass
Your crew collates while you sit in the van and wait
Gassed and trashed and smashed young cads
Roasting away on a sunny summer day
Or, okay, an August night anyway
And youre living on air
While on the 25th floor, up there
Theyd fan a million bucks before your face
Maries passed out in a chair with her once fussed-over hair
All mussed into an Ive-just-been-fucked shape
Just an hour before, she crashed, all cashed
She said, Im done with looking back, and you look your age
Which is thirty-seven, by the way and not twenty-eight
And fucking let them stare, because at this point I dont care.
I have been your bride stripped bare since 98.
And our silver-screen affair, it weighs less to me than air.
Its a gas now. Its a laugh just how far several mil can take it.
This weeks as fast as last weeks flash of interstate
When you starved and never ate
This weeks splashed a sick, gold cast across your face
As you roam on silk ripped tippy-toe alone through Silver lake
Splayed astride a snow-white mare on a non-stop all-night tear.
What a ghastly sight you smear in every face
In that fat, fur-trimmed affair that your lawyer lets you wear
Youll destroy your chance to ever get repeatedly engaged