One, two, three

Well, I want to try and hold my head up high
In this busted-up Pinto truck
Conversion between the
Broken concrete and the cloudy sky
Well, you have to make an effort with me
Can you make it look
Like you're chauffeuring me?
There's enough gas to get us
Home now if we glide
When we took this job I thought
That you knew the deal
I told the boss we had
A Mercedes-Benz but all
We got in our yard is a steering wheel
Well, I can't borrow this tuxedo much longer
Well, we might have to cut
And sell your long hair
I don't mind you wearing a
Wig but I won't steal

Well, honey
We can't afford to look this cheap

We need to make it look like we're
High class, so we'll haul ourself on
We can't be beat
I can't help but wonder, this time next year
Will we be drinking Dom
Perignon or reheated beer?

We have to keep up appearances
As long as we can
There's too much to lose, our social
Status, well, our ice machine
And our ceiling fan
And if they find out that
We ain't real songwriters
That we go Dutch on cigarette lighters
We're going to lose the paradise
That's in our hands

Got an image to live up to here
In the best motel on Imposter Street
While the Joneses are waltzing off to dinner
We're gluing old lottery tickets together
Trying to make us a winner well, honey
We can't afford to look this cheap

Copyright: Universal Music Publishing Group
Writer(s): JOHN ANTHONY WHITE