Maybe I'm just jealous of these guys, but I'm taking a swipe here at some unnamed uberwealthy Robber Barons who have found a new and unique way to utilize their millions-upon-millions. This is just a quickly assembled demo version, so expect no special effects, but this song may have a relatively short shelf life before the story fades from our memories.
(My reflection on 9/11 "A Perfect Mid-September Day", which had been posted here for a week or so in conjunction with the twentieth anniversary, has moved back to its usual location in the HISTORICAL section.)
© 2021 Steven E. Cutts
a Studio C recording
I’m sure that you know my name; you may not recognize my face,
But I just anteed up a boodle of money to take a little ride in space.
No, I’m not a scientist; can’t teach you a thing about the stars;
Can’t rattle off the digits of the speed of light,
but I’m dreamin’ ‘bout a trip to Mars.
This was just the sort of thing that rich boys do.
I want to seize the moment, want to set my sights on something new.
I lose track of all my money in the bank,
but sitting on the rocket put a tiger in my tank.
It was just the sort of thing that rich boys do.
I made myself a pin with wings and call myself an astronaut;
Floating up there above the atmosphere beat spending money on some yacht.
A mansion’s so terrestrial, paying taxes is overblown;
I figure these were dollars that were very well spent;
I’m not the man they think I am at home.
This was just the sort of thing . . .
They used to call us Captains of Industry,
But that title never really did it for me.
OK, my ride lasted for barely ten minutes,
But there went a spaceship, and Dude, I was in it!
This was just the sort of thing that rich, rich, rich, rich, rich boys do!