Woke up this morning with a strange sense of dread   Brewed my own coffee, made my own bed   No breakfast laid out, no freshly baked bread   I had a pop tart instead   Fished through my closet to find a clean dress   Nothing’s been washed, the place is a mess, mmmmmmm   Look for my limousine, once more it’s not there   I can’t believe I’m not a millionaire      Where is the room that hosts my shoes   The snooty butler and private mews   My invitation to Elton’s bash   But most of all, where is my cash?    Awwwwwwww       Dinner from Asda, no lobster in sight   Marcella: Tears at the check out, this don’t feel right   And as I lug my bags up three flights of stairs,   I can’t believe I’m not a millionaire   Aaah-uh   I can’t believe I’m not a millionaire   Aaah-uh   I can’t believe I’m not a millionaire