In a smoke-filled room "How's it going then?" (Hahaha) It's not going at all We got no more gigs You always knew it could be better But you never thought it would end It only happens cos of other people All the money that that they spend On David Bowie LPs
When I told her we were finished She smoked a cigarette and sighed "One last fag before we go home" She said she loved me then she died It doesn't happen like this
So you always get what you pay for But the end result is always the same You lose everything you always wanted Because you caouldn't afford to pay All the smoke-filled room contains Dejected people with no aims A bottle of gin, a packet of cgs Sing, brother, sing, we got no more gigs
Sing, brother, sing, we got no more gigs Does it really matter? Do you really care?
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