Verse 1 Salted rain falls on the grey concrete, You march with pride down the baker street. That synthetic checkerboard against a puffer vest, A heavy, costly burden strapped across your chest. Chorus Oh, the brown and gold facade, Struttin' round like a demigod. But inside that tiny pouch of greed, Is it confidence, or just a desperate need? Verse 2 There are no passports or diamonds hid within, Just a sticky vape and a scratch-card win. You clutch the canvas tight to fight the cold, Buying into stories that were oversold. Verse 3 Another silhouette upon the morning train, Copying the pattern, distinctively plain. Hoping that the logo creates a king, But darling, it doesn’t mean a single thing. Outro (Soft scat singing: Ba-da-ba-da...) Just a little square of vanity. So expensive to look so cheap. (Fade out on a major 7th chord)
