Leather pants, tough as nails,
Black satin gloves, fingerprints beware,
Smoke out of the side of our mouth,
Swear it’s our last one at least for a while.

It’s the night of the riots, the student protests,
The poor in the streets, austerity must regress!
The police are busy taming the wild beasts,
It is now time for us to finally feast.

Leather seats, soft as fur,
No need to whip around to be sure,
The police ain’t coming down tonight,
Crystal shining bright in the cold dark night.

The windows are inviting us to smash,
No one home to hear the symphonious crash,
They’re all out sporting their tiny red squares,
Their home a playground for us wealthy heirs.

We are the children of trust fund, we chant,
They are the pregnancies of rum, we chant,
Toasting our crystal blunts in the crystal sky,
But there’s nothing better than money to get you high.

Leather boots, stomping the pavement,
If we weren’t rich we’d be jail meant.
Smoke out the side of our mouths,
We’ll do it all again tomorrow, no f***ing doubt.