| No, no use in lecturing them, or in threatening them
|
| They will just say «who are you»
|
| Is that a question or not, and you see that the plot
|
| Is predictable, not new
|
| But you’re still stunned at the things you will do No, no use in taking their time or in wasting two dimes
|
| On a call to God knows who
|
| When all you feel is the rain and it’s hard to be vain
|
| When no person looks at you
|
| So just be gracious and wait in the queue
|
| CHORUS
|
| So when do I get to sing «My Way»
|
| When do I get to feel like Sinatra felt
|
| When do I get to sing «My Way»
|
| In heaven or hell
|
| When do I get to do it my way
|
| When do I get to feel like Sid Vicious felt
|
| When do I get to sing «My Way»
|
| In heaven or hell
|
| Yes, it’s a tradition they say, like a bright Christmas Day
|
| And traditions must go on And though I say, yes I see, no I really don’t see
|
| Is my smiley face still on?
|
| Sign your name with an X, mow the lawn
|
| CHORUS
|
| They’ll introduce me, «Hello, hello»
|
| Women seduce me and champagne flows
|
| Then the lights go low
|
| There’s only one song I know
|
| There, this home which once was serene, now is home to the screams
|
| And to flying plates and shoes
|
| But I have no souvenirs of these crackerjack years
|
| Not a moment I could choose
|
| And not one offer that I could refuse
|
| CHORUS |