Rich Kids Blues

Bubble, bubble straight to my head The richer, the (drier?) believe in the liar You're bringin' trouble, trouble back in my bed When nobody can save me 'cause the smoke is my baby, baby

Mama, I got your white lie ways (or is it wild-eyed?) Mama, there's nothing you can do or say

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

Why you, why you over my head? Mama, she told me keep your eyes on the trophy And the sighing, sighing's out of your bed But the delirious gestures are so easily misread

Mama, got your white lie taste Mama, there's nothing you can do or say

I got the rich kids blues and they 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 they 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

Mama, I got the rich kids blues Mama, I got your white lie ways Mama, I got the rich kids blues