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Just like when we were seventeenWe said we'd move to Malta, claim Nationality,And now that we are twenty-threeDays tethered to the running track, Evenings chained to the dishrackI'm called up to the Maltese national team,My vision is impeccable, my first touch is obscene.A world cup qualifier finds me fifty, forty, thirty yardsFrom goal, a late sub on in an off the striker role Was it wind? Did it take a bad deflection?A decade spent nursing a fear that you might never make it?The crowd draws breathe at once it swerves to the top cornerThe Sunday tabloid press declares me the new king of Malta.With my name on shirts, your face on the cash That every week just piles inside our bank account,We'd rule the roost and we could start a familyI think we'd make about a hundred million bucksI head down to the mint and tell them: Pound every coin deep into the groundBurn every note in circulationThere's a new face on the currency of our nation.I hand them a photograph of you,SongtexteThe most beautiful thing they'd ever seen.The press starts a rolling, your image on Euros,The workforce retires to the bathroom.With my name on shirts, your face on the cash That every week just piles inside our bank account,We'd rule the roost and we could start a familyI think we'd make about a hundred million bucks Aus Songtexte Mania