Wanna be blues

So you thought you’d write a song

Tell of history in the making

Mask the tears of the disenfranchised council scum

Blend your rythmes harmoniously

Bleed each poor beggar dry of the basic neccessaties.

That was last year, and your still trying on new hats

To compliment your style…your wardrobe full of clobber

Sally’s army could retire on you.

You could never go to a charity shop as the clothes

Are creased and the labels are torn

So down town you trot, with your stolen credit cards

Armani and Gucci saw you coming

and say that's as far as you go.

I’ll make it this year you say.

To hell with the long haul

Money sex and drugs is all I’m doing it for

Who wants to live past their sixties anyway?

I’ve got no pension and Benefit Street sucks

I wanna be a pop star. I don’t care how I do it

Live the wanna be life to the full

Go to the swankiest bars as a matter of course

Do a line or two off gold rimmed face basins

Drink champers out of a prosthetic leg

Wipe my arse with 50 pound notes

Talk shit until I’m dead.

Hang out with all the in crowd

Do radio and TV interviews and walk out half way through

Court the paparazzi, then tell the chauffer to drive

Like crazy to escape the maddening zoo.

Who wants to be a rock star?

No pun intended, I mean it in the best possible way

I’ll get there even if it kills me

Go out disgracefully every single day.