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