Money for Jam.

So I'm apparently due to cop nine hundred dollars to stimulate our failure at supply and demand.
Remember those old Woolmark ads where a sheep ran through an empty shopping mall?
With all this new found scratch this daddio is out scoping some fresh vines, you hip to my bingo square?
What to do with it?
And yes, no gentle persuasion is needed.
I could pay my rent?
But I won't.
I could freak out about discussing my thoughts on the Internet?
Yeah, that has a better root formation.
Nintendo DSi?
If people only read what I say on the Internet, to diagnose my mindstate in a document,
And later I forget yet you tailor your behaviour to my previous paranoid whims,
When do I get a smoko break?
Three hours with a submissive and one with a dominatrix at The Fetish Manor?
Supply and demand.
You don't need a weatherman to tell you which way the wind is blowing,
You just need an iPhone.
Drop shadow cast on drop stitches, tailor made lives accentuated by hand rolled cigarettes.
I know it's a recession but why do lettuces cost three dollars?
Sox and jox are up there.
A ring like Wheeler, a girlfriend like Linka,
A best friend like Daria and a life like Foxtel.
Cola bottles?
If you look at the Coca Cola ribbon logo sideways,
It's a picture of Elvis and a rockabilly snorting coke.
All my mugshots requested under freedom of information?
Language is beautiful.
I'm going to buy another dictionary.
Xbox 360?

I am.

The bank branches out, leaving money and sense all bagged up,
Sitting on the point scales of Cash Converter justice.
Cash cows dance Bollywood, Hindu statues of sacred account.
Quiet riots with twenty handshakes, world wide pride doesn't hide anymore.
National irrational, call me on Tuesday,
Every decade fades into dirty facades,
And the only one who realized was left in the ward.