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Rich kids are born to hate the world |
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That's why they steal their mother's pearls |
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All that money makes you sick |
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You've got to find a way to get your kicks |
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But you know it's really not his fault |
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And growing up can be so cold |
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Victim of a nursery crime |
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All the mess your father left behind |
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The flowers were white and red |
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They laid them round the bed |
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The sun shone down, the hearse drove on ahead |
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Everybody loves you when you're dead |
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With a needle in your leg |
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On a Hammersmith sofa-bed |
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They only gave you half a chance |
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When they should've called the ambulance |
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And though your mother nearly died of shame |
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When the papers said what was to blame |
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You can count on her in any crisis |
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To be handing round the tranquilisers |
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The flowers were white and red |
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They laid them round the bed |
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The sun shone down, the hearse drove on ahead |
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Everybody loves you when you're dead |
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Never thought we'd miss you |
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Quite as much as we do |
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It's too late to tell you now |
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Top people pay to put it straight |
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A nose job was your sister's fate |
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She always was a sacred cow |
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Well she's married to the surgeon now |
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And all the people that you used to see |
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We've all grown up and got healthy |
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Now and then we'll think of you |
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As we slip into our daddies' shoes |
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The flowers were white and red |
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We laid them round the bed |
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The sun shone down, the hearse drove on ahead |
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Everybody loves you when you're dead |
