Tim Minchin - Mitsubishi Colt Lyrics
He looks at me intenselyEyes contact lens green with artifical envy*****s his head and fixes me with a condescending stareFlicks his bleached, blond tipped hairAnd theorises thus:"You know what I reckon?"Pause for effectAdjusts his tackle as if it's semi-erectI feel I'd better give him what I know he expects:"What do you reckon?"A hand on the shoulderAn avuncular winkSips his lemon drinkSpits out the pipsHands on hipsLicks his lipsLike a wolf near a flockYet again adjusting his fantasy *****He delivers his philosophy"I reckon it don't matterIt don't mean squatWhat you earn or what you gotOr the style of your hairOr what you wearIt matters not"Like what do you careThat I live on a hill with views of the beach?That my chick and my dogs have an en-suite bathroom each?That I've already reached my first million and I'm only 26?You're as thick as two bricksIf you think you can fixWhat is broke in your life with moneyAnd the funny thing isAnd I shit you notThat I'd give it all up like that!"He leaves me to ponder his wisdom for a bitAnd with a click of his fingersBeckons the blondest, bimbo-est barmaidAnd grinning ridiculouslyOrders a G and TAnd a beer, for meAnd before I can escapeHe's back saying, "Cos mate, the thing isAll of that crapIt's all superficialIt's all just a frontAnyone can be a rich cuntBut the thing we all wantCan't be bought with doshYou know what I mean, boss?Cos you don't give a tossThat when I want to get slimI've got my own private gymAnd a personal trainer called... Danielle or *****in' DarleneShe's got titsLike those chicksIn Ralph magazine"And it's not like you careThat I own the controlling shareOf an overseas companyThat builds accounting softwareIt matters not one bitI mean who gives a shitThat I earn six hundred grandAnd drive a brand new land rover?You know I would hand it all over like that!"He pauses for a beatLong enough for me to retreat to a seatAnd sit, elbow on the barAnd contemplate this guruWith his white teeth and big carAnd ponder silently my beliefThat genius comes in many a formAnd that this postulating, peroxided porn-star prick... ain't one of themMy specultaion cut shortAs he reformsLike Terminator IIAnd before I have time to abortHe descends upon me and snorts, "I guess what I'm trying to sayIn my own little wayIs that I reckon that musos and artists and thatWell, I reckon they're greatI know some people reckon you guys just sit on your bumsAnd don't get out of bed til the pizza man comesAnd smoke conesAnd take crackAnd whack off all dayBut I don't care what they sayAnd I don't listen to peopleWho say that all actors are gayNot that I don't think that's OKAs far as I'm concernedAlthough it's not my bagIf you wanna be a fagBe a fag y'know?Who am I to sayWhere you comeAnd where you goIn the privacy of your own homo?Ha-ha! Homo! Ha-ha! Homo! Ha-ha!"He's shitting me nowAnd my eyes start to glazeAnd through the haze of my angerI notice his G and T is goneAnd he's starting to dribbleAs he dribbles on and *****ing on"But you musos are alrightI don't know much about musicBut I know what I likeAnd I reckon I'd throw it all inTo be like you Jim." "Tim.""I mean you might be poor in monetary termsBut what you earn spirituallyWhat makes you what you areJust means so much moreThan what you earn from a really nice carOr a tennis courtOr holidays in GreeceOr a house on the beachOr stock market sharesOr twenty-one pairsOf Calvin Klein undewearDo you understand? You are a wealthy, wealthy manI mean I don't want to piss in your pocketBut I've gotta sayBefore I get on my wayThat honestly, and I'm not having you onI reckon on day you could play the piano as good as Elton John!"The cops are still minglingThough the crowd's shuffled outI've got ice on my handWhere my fist met his mouthAnd although I explainedThat it wasn't my faultI've a five hundred buck fineFor aggravated assaultSo before it gets worseI reckon I'll boltA wealthy, wealthy manIn a 1981 Mitsubishi Colt
