Songtext von Song For The Old Man

How much sand in your boots? How much dry bread in teeths? Everyday is longest day or maybe the day you will never forget God didn't save you from the luck of a rich marriage Nor your dictator saved you from the big glorious war But maybe you were saved just because you've never never believed No saint has guided your wrinkle hand But one hundred whores has driven your shining cars I will sing my worst southamerican song at your funeral I will song my worst southamerican song at your funeral.. my old man Twenty years in the tropics One hundred years of regrets Life is to long to repent and too short to deify the bitterness Your ironed shirt, your brushed hair, your perfect dye go beyond Every political convinction and against every classfight I loved your style and your hatred for your hatred for mediocrity God will not give you a honoured place but he will envy your shined shoes I will sing my worst southamerican song at your funeral I will song my worst southamerican song at your funeral.. my old man