Gold Digger

You go to work, toil hard all day. Works for me, keeps you out of my way. At the end of the month you get your salary, then you can buy me gifts, with which to lavish me. Wine and dine me a few times a week, then another I wont seek. I need my hair done, you can pay but don't hang around, you don't have to stay. I'll even let you cook for me, I'll have Lobster Frittata for my tea. Dom Perignon is the drink I choose but no plonk please, no cheap booze. We can go to Paris for the weekend, I'm sure you wont mind if I bring a friend. Then we'll go shopping and you can come too. There'll be bags to carry, there'll be quite a few. If you get tired, I suppose you can stop but I'll carry on to the next shop. I test drove a sports car, that was really nice, I said you'd buy it, didn't notice the price. I'll sleep in the bed, you can stay in that chair. You can get a blanket, you'll be comfy there. What's all that? Is that my stuff? What do you mean, you've had enough? Why are my bags by the door? What do you mean, you don't love me anymore?