So, why should I sing? I'm standing, enjoying a mad frantic face Of a miserly man I'm trampling his land While he’s tearfully begging for Lisa Alert To find that lovely desirable lash His lovely pocket lash, yeah Just to try it on my back To find my frail neck To find again and grab To find again and grab To pull my leg, mixing my face with fresh dog shit I'm standing, enjoying a flawless typical coda Hoping to taste that wit Where I drew a still lifes with the words And you silently called them the fucking daub Where I fed hungry songs and gave them the plots Not a verselets from motley postcards Where I begged so many times You won't do it, will you? You won't, will you? You won't And you actually won’t listen to this ugly song So, why should I sing Without any coats of arms I have no right to scream So many rhymes, alright I have no wings to fly I have no flag to wave To Pitchfork scouts tonight I have no stamps, any hashtags To make me clear for thousand lazy minds And this non-singing shitty style Clumsy translation, foreign state of mind Billboard will cry with laughter Will make a cuckoo sign And you won’t listen to this ugly stuff I know this road, which’s named “The way of Samurai” Where hungry Tanto waits for hero Waits for honey blood