You Can't Hold The Hand Of A Rock And Roll Man

This week's cash for last week's grass
Your crew collates while you sit in the van and wait
Gassed and trashed and smashed young cads
Roasting away
It was on a sunny summer day
Or okay an august night anyway
And you're living on air
While on the 25th floor
Up there
They'd fan a million bucks before your face
Marie's passed out in a chair with her once fussed-over hair
All mussed into an i've-just-been-f**ked shape
Just an hour before
She crashed all cashed
She said
I'm done with looking back
And you look your age
Which is thirty-seven
By the way and not twenty-eight
And f**king let them stare
Because at this point i don't care
I have been your bride stripped bare since '98
And our silver-screen affair
It weighs less to me than air
It's a gas now
It's a laugh just how far several mil can take it
This week's fast as last week's flash of interstate
When you starved and never ate
This week's splashed a sick
Gold cast across your face
As you roam on silk ripped tippy-toe alone through silver lake
Astride a snow-white mare on a non-stop all-night tear
What a ghastly sight you'll smear in every face
In that fat
Fur-trimmed affair that your lawyer let's you wear
You'll destroy your chance to ever get repeatedly engaged