I wrote this song on an airport piano I was the guy disturbing your journey from security To gate twenty-three A Maybe you noticed me I wrote this song cos I had a spare hour I was delayed trying to get back to my babies in Sydney And I noticed the keys so I'm writing a song Singin'
Women in SUV Porsches always look miserable I don't know why they're so sad Maybe it's the calories they coulda had Filling them up with regret And men in cafes in ski resorts Trying to connect with their sons Look like they just wanna hit ‘em I mean I'm sure that they dig ‘em underneath all the gear
A young man in Air Jordans Just left me five dollars on the piano Whattaya know
I always hated those airport pianos Should be a law saying playing the theme from Beverly Hills Cop Will get one of your hands chopped off I wrote this song on an airport piano I'm out of time I just need one more little rhyme I gotta board that plane They're calling my name So I'm writing a song Singin'
Women in SUV Porsches always look miserable Or is it only the Botox They stick in their face to keep their looks from slipping They're kicking the can down the road And men in mansions on cul-de-sacs Having their midlife affairs With the wife of a banker While the banker is banging Bianca But sadly they're still gonna die
A guy buying Subway Anxiously digs through his cabin bag Smiles when his wallet is found Pays for his six-inch Then forgets that his bag is unzipped So the contents of it Is disgorged And a jar of Viagra spills onto the ground So it goes
Women in SUV Porsches always look miserable And I know why they're so sad They thought they'd be happier than they were in their Fords But now they're bored of their Porsches And they're looking for more They're out there shopping for more And their husband's so fat in his new Lycra shorts Trying to peddle his way back to ninety-four Trying to wind back the clock to before To before they had this boat and this house And this buy-to-let mortgage To before they had bought all the things that they thought Would fill up the hole but the goal keeps receding And his hair is receding there's this book he's been reading for Six months but the words just swim round the pages And god it's been ages since they made love And the kids are on drugs With their ADHD and their anxiety And their music is shit And the time just keeps slipping away But I'm sitting here playing and singing And they are calling my name Cos your flight's gotta go when your flight's gotta go And I wrote this song on an airport pianoTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
