Lyrics
Johnny want to be a big star
Get on stage and play the guitar
Make a little money, buy a fancy car
Big old house and an alligator
Just to match with them alligator shoes
He's a rich man so he's no longer singing the blues
He's singing songs about material things
And platinum rings and watches that go bling
But, diamonds don't bling in the dark
He a star now, but he ain't singing from the heart
Sooner or later he's just gonna fall apart
'Cause his fans can't relate to his new found art
He ain't doing what he did from the start
And that's putting in some feeling and thought
He decided to live his life shallow
Cash in his love for material
And it's gone, gone, going
Gone, everything gone, give a damn
Gone be the birds when they don't want to sing
Gone people, up awkward with their things, gone
You see yourself in the mirror
And you feel safe 'cause it looks familiar
But you afraid to open up your soul
'Cause you don't really know, don't really know
Who is, the person that's deep within
'Cause you are content with just being the name brand man
And you fail to see that its trivial
Insignificant, you addicted to material
I've seen your kind before
Your the type that thinks souls is sold in a store
Packaged up with incense sticks
With them vegetarian meals
To you that's righteous
You're fiction like books
You need to go out to life and look
'Cause, what happens when they take your material
And you already sold your soul
And it's gone, gone, going
Gone, everything gone, give a damn
Gone be the birds when they don't want to sing
Gone people, up awkward with their things, gone
You say that time is money and money is time
So you got mind in your money and your money on your mind
But what about, that crime that you did to get paid
And what about, that bid, you can't take it to your brain
Why you on about those shoes you'll wear today?
They'll do no good on the bridges you've walked along the way
All that money that you got gon' be gone
That gear that you rock gon' be gone
The house up on the hill gon' be gone
The gold, on your grill gon' be gone
The ice on your wrist gon' be gone
That nice little Miss gon' be gone
That whip that you roll gon' be gone
And what's worst is your soul already gone
And it's gone, gone, going
Gone, everything gone, give a damn
Gone be the birds when they don't want to sing
Gone people, up awkward with their things, gone
Writer(s): William Adams, Jack Hody Johnson
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