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Lyrics

How does it feel to be
Sittin' in luxury's lap
Where the money tree grows
And the champagne is always on tap
Tell me how does it feel to be breathing
That rarefied air
Way up at the level where only
The devil may care

Where those who have and
Those who have so much
Are all standing in line to meet
The man with the Midas touch
From the bottom of the valley
They run to the top of the heap
With lots of bourbon and valium
To put the sad winners to sleep

Lyrics continue below...

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Oh those poor rich people
They have to find a reason for
Every thing they do
Oh those poor rich people
All of that green just makes them blue

So they juggle the books and
Redistribute the wealth
But all of that juggling is
Hazardous to your health
When the ashtrays are full
We'll sell the car for scrap
It's one more tax shelter in
Downtown luxury's lap

Writer(s): Steve Goodman

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