Roger Waters - Money (Official Lyric Video, DSOTM REDUX)

The Dark Side of the Moon Redux, full album out October 6th.

Now available for pre-order on double LP, CD, download and with exclusive bundles in the official store: https://RWaters.lnk.to/DSOTMredux_

First track ‘Money’ is available to stream now: https://RWaters.lnk.to/money

Roger Waters – Vocals

Gus Seyffert – Bass, Guitar, Percussion, Keys, Synth

Joey Waronker – Drums

Jonathan Wilson – Guitar

Johnny Shepherd – Organ

Via Mardot – Theremin

Gabe Noel – String Arrangements, Strings

LYRICS:

Money

Get away

You get a good job with more pay and you’re okay

Money

It’s a gas

Grab that cash with both hands and make a stash

New car, caviar, four star, daydream

Think I’ll buy me a football team

Money

Get back

I’m all right, Jack, keep your hands off of my stack

Money

It’s a hit

Don’t give me that do goody good bullshit

I’m in the high-fidelity first-class travelling set

And I think I need a Lear jet

Welcome to Hell

I’m sorry, I’ll read that again

Welcome to Rooftops

I’m sorry, I’ll read that again

Welcome to The Starlight Room

I’m sorry, I’ll read that again

Welcome to The Underworld

And now, for tonight’s main event:

The Heavyweight

Close swaddled in the cloying folds of fat

The Heavyweight squats

Freak fearful on his stool

And through toad lids

He squints his vision of the world

The grey parade of waiters trade

His retinue, of course

Seconds, thirds, and fourths

Cling, tick-like, to his skin

The bell sounds

In the corner of the ring

A fresh contender for his crown

Puts out his pale hand to shake before the bout

The champion blinks

His sticky tongue

Swollen in greed

With cobra speed

Snakes out

It’s lights out for the kid

His grace and wit, in that split second

Plucked, sucked, dissolved

Reduced to petty bulk

Digested

Shit

The champ, well satisfied

Adjusts his sumo backside on the stool

Draws ‘round his cloak, breaks wind, out loud

The crowd howls its approval

But, in the shadow of the ring

With cloven hoof and a crooked grin

The Devil pats the briefcase that holds the Faustian pact

He smiles, enjoys his little joke

Because, he knows, the champion’s cloak

Is but a shroud, in fact

Money

It’s a crime

Share it fairly, but don’t take a slice of my pie

Money

So they say

Is the root of all evil today

But if you ask for a rise

It’s no surprise that they’re giving none away

Away

Giving none away

Giving none away

How much ya givin’ away?

Uh…none. Nuffin’.

_____

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