I want a crossaint!

(ahhhh-aaaah) I stare at the bakery glass

So warm, so buttery and sweet

But my pockets are hollow as dust

No coin for this morning-time treat

So I sign in,

I take the wheel

To drive the feast I cannot feel (mon dieu)

I carry the warm golden crust To strangers who feast in the

light!

While I chase the coins in the dust Delivery girl of the

night!

Inside my cold car is the scent

Of pastries I'll never possess

Ten miles for a three dollar tip

To bury my financial distress

No buttery warm delight

Just driving through the night (farewell my sweet croissant)