Tim Minchin: "Mitsubishi Colt" (Conversation With A Stock Broker) Video

Quoting Tim Minchin: "I think mitsubishi colt was written in a day. there was a cool jazz band in perth called "K" - and i used to get up and do beat poetry with them every now and then. so i think that poem was written on the day of one of the gigs."

Lyrics of this song: "He looks at me intensely. Contact lens green with artifical envy. Cocks his head and fixes me with a condescending stare. Flicks his bleached, blond tipped hair. And theorises thus: 'You know what I reckon?' Pause for effect. Adjusts his tackle as if its semi-erect. I feel Id better give him what I know he expects. 'What do you reckon?' A hand on the shoulder. An avuncular wink. Sips his lemon drink. Spits out the pips. Hands on hips. Licks his lips. Like a wolf near a flock. Yet again adjusting his fantasy cock. He delivers his philosophy: 'I reckon it dont matter. It dont mean squat.
What you earn or what you got. Or the style of your hair. Or what you wear. It matters not. Like what do you care. That I live on a hill with views of the beach. That my chick and my dogs have an en-suite bathroom each. That Ive already reached my first million and Im only 36. Youre as thick as two bricks.
If you think you can fix - what is broke in your life with money. And the funny thing is, and I shit you not,
that Id give it all up like that.' He leaves me to ponder his wisdom for a bit. And with a click of his fingers. Beckons the blondest, bimbo-est barmaid. And grinning ridiculously. Orders a G and T.
And a beer, for me. And before I can escape - hes back saying: 'Cos mate, the thing is... All of that crap,
its all superficial. Its all just a front. Anyone can be a rich cunt. But the thing we all want cant be bought with dosh. You know what I mean, boss? Cos you dont give a toss. That when I want to get slim - Ive got my own private gym. And a personal trainer called Danielle or Darlene. Shes got tits
Like those chicks in playboy magazine. And its not like you care that I own the controlling share
of an overseas company. That builds accounting software. It matters not one bit. I mean, who gives a shit. That I earn six hundred grand. And drive a brand new land rover. You know, I would hand it all over like that.' He pauses for a beat. Long enough for me to retreat to a seat. And sit, elbow on the bar.
And contemplate this guru - with his white teeth and big car. And ponder silently my belief that genius comes in many a form. And that this postulating, peroxided porn-star prick aint one of them. My specultaion cut short - as he reforms. Like Terminator II. And before I have time to abort - he descends upon me and snorts: 'I guess what Im trying to say in my own little way is that I reckon that musos and artists and that, well I reckon theyre great. I know some people reckon you guys just sit on your bums.
And dont get out of bed 'til the pizza man comes. And smoke cones. And take crack. And wack-off all day. But I dont care what they say. And I dont listen to people who say that all actors are gay. Not that I dont think thats OK. As far as Im concerned, although its not my bag: If you wanna be a fag -
Be a fag! Yknow? Who am I to say where you come and where you go In the privacy of your own homo!
Ha ha. Homo! Ha ha. Homo! Ha ha.' Hes shitting me now. And my eyes start to glaze. And through the haze of my anger, I notice his G and T is gone. And hes starting to dribble. As he dribbles on and fucking on. 'But you musos are alright. I dont know much about music. But I know what I like. And I reckon Id throw it all in to be like you Jim...' - Tim. - 'I mean you might be poor in monetary terms. But what you earn spiritually, what makes you what you are, just means so much more. Than what you earn from a really nice car. Or a tennis court. Or holidays in Greece. Or a house on the beach. Or stock market shares. Or twenty-one pairs of Calvin Klein undewear. Do you understand you are a wealthy, wealthy man. I mean I dont want to piss in your pocket, but ive gotta say... Before I get on my way... That honestly, and Im not having you on... I reckon on day you could play the piano as good as Elton John!'
The cops are still mingling. Though the crowds shuffled out. Ive got ice on my hand where my fist met his mouth. And although I explained that it wasnt my fault Ive a five hundred buck fine: For aggravated assault. So before it gets worse I reckon Ill bolt a wealthy, wealthy man in a 1981 Mitsubishi Colt.