| The heating’s broke down in the west wing
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| The tractor’s stuck up in the field
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| Most of the workforce I care to employ
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| Ain’t worth the harvest they yield
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| The horses need feeding, radiators need bleeding
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| The whole place is springing a leak
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| The drive’s overgrown, the garden’s unmown
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| And the phone hasn’t rung in a week
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| When I look for my friends and I check all the pubs
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| It seems that not one of them’s there
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| I wish I could say the same for my loot
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| I’m a lonesome and sad millionaire
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| The butcher’s closed up in the 90s
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| Post office, the rest just like that
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| Every shop that I chose, either emptied or closed
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| Every time I popped in for a chat
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| My Big Issues delivered in rain storm or blizzard
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| So I don’t touch the hand of the poor
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| The gate is so high, the hedges touch the sky
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| So it’s only the butler what saw
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| When I go to the bank and I check my account
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| It’s always the case it’s all there
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| I wish I say for the same for my friends
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| I’m a lonesome and sad millionaire
|
| And they say there’s a financial crisis
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| And they say that austerity’s king
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| But these fountains don’t flow where the money don’t go
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| And a cherub don’t piss from a spring
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| And now the planes are knee-deep to a giant
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| And the water’s coming in round my ears
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| And the party they send, just like my friends
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| Won’t turn up to save me for years
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| Won’t turn up to save me for years…
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| When I look for my friends and I check all the pubs
|
| It seems that not one of them’s there
|
| I wish I could say the same for my loot
|
| I’m a lonesome and sad…
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| I’m a weary and bad
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| I’m a lonesome and sad
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| Millionaire… |