And that's an uncomfortable punch
Put 245 glass on the altar in that church
Burnished you with a velvet cloth
Made a speech, held you high,
shed a tear and claimed you was mine
Trophy wife, trophy wife,
Trophy wife, trophy wife,
Kissed you on your golden lips
My mother the capitalist,
a god and a friendly bank
I took you home and polished you,
and poured us both a drink
Years passed and I neglected you
Your silver started to dull
I competed for other prizes to hold
You stayed on a mantelpiece,
cobwebs clung to your gold
You tarnished when I left
But you were my rosette blue,
Herald of a foot in the door
My laurel crown, ermine gown
trophy wife is going to hold you high
trophy wife is gonna hold you high
And the wife, trophy wife I'm
there's no fear of why I'm gonna hold you high
Gonna hold you, gonna hold you,
