My fingers itch and so does my mind
I sit here with my guitar about to write music of some
kind


The latest weeks of pasta has turned my belly into a
balloon

And the lack of toilet-paper has made me look like a
baboon


Maybe I should try to write a Mc Donald´s-kind-of-song
Real easy to chew for everybody from Oslo to Hong Kong


The bills have to be paid and the dogs have to be fed

I dig and I dig for a profitable hookline in my head?


But when we think we got it
Our million dollar hit

We throw the chords around a bit
And no one understands it


It´s kinda hard to admit
Our expected monster hit
Has turned into a pile of %#@!

And no one understands it

No one understands it?