Rich Kids Blues

(الألبوم: Wounded Rhymes - 2011)

Bubble, bubble straight to my head
The richer, the drier, I believe in the liar
Bringing trouble, trouble back to my bed
Where nobody can save me
'Cause the smoke is my baby, baby

Mama, I got your wild-eyed ways
Mama, there's nothing you can do or say

I got the rich kids blues
And it got nothing to do with you
I got the rich kids blues
And I'm not sure that I'm pulling through

Wire, wire over my head
Mama, she told me, "Keep your eyes on the trophy"
And the sires, sires outta your bed
For delirious gestures are so easily misread

Mama, I got your wild-eyed taste
Mama, there's nothing you can do or say

I got the rich kids blues
And it got nothing to do with you
I got the rich kids blues
And I'm not sure that I'm pulling through
I got the rich kids blues
And it got nothing to do with you
I got the rich kids blues
And I'm not sure that I'm pulling through

Mama, I got the rich kids blues

Mama, I got your wild-eyed ways

Mama, I got the rich kids blues