Standard (EADGBE)
The moon is hanging in a purple sky
Baby's sleeping while his mother sighs
Talking about the rich folks
The rich folks have the same jokes
But they park in basic places
The priest is preaching from a shallow grave
Counts his money, then he paints you saved
Talking `bout the young folks
Young folks share the same jokes
But they meet in older places
Chorus
So don't tell me about your success
Nor your recipes for my happiness
Smoke in bed, I never could digest
Those illusions you claim to have going
The sun is shining as it always done
Coffin dust is the fate of everyone
Talking about the rich folks
The poor create the rich hoax
And only late breast fed fools believe it