Lyrics
Six of one and half a dozen
Black guitars and plastic blues
Hide behind a wall of nothing
Nothing said and nothing new
Four chords that made a million
Four chords that made a million, million, million
You belong there on the cover
You are the emperor in new clothes
A man who thinks he owns the future
Will sell you vacuum with his prose
Four chords that made a million
Four chords that made a million, million, million
Four chords that made a million, million, million
And then, a moron with the chequebook
Will take you out to lunch, who knows?
He will tell you, you're a saviour
And then, he'll drop you like a stone
Four chords that made a million
Four chords that made a million, million, million
Four chords that made a million, million, million
And I have tried
And I have died
Trying to get through
But in the end
I can't defend you
Four chords that made a million
Four chords that made a million, million, million
Four chords that made a million, million, million
Four chords that made a million, million, million
