| Well it’s been half a year
|
| Since my ball was properly stocked
|
| And relations on whole
|
| Hasn’t quite been «oh so clock!»
|
| But though you’re not the key
|
| To this emotional lock
|
| That still doesn’t change
|
| The value of your stocks
|
| Now I hear that people
|
| Talking garbage about you
|
| And as goes with such things
|
| The most of it ain’t true
|
| So I write this song just to say to you
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| I believe in you, — I do, Vendelay
|
| Well, the word’s on the street
|
| That your ball gets properly stocked
|
| And by word you consider it being
|
| «Oh so clock!»
|
| Well now I’m not your spokesman
|
| But still a man of words
|
| And no matter how untrue
|
| I know garbage always hurts
|
| I don’t know nowadays
|
| What it takes to get bewitched
|
| For a person like me
|
| Who’s just starving to get ditched
|
| Let’s just hope that our ropes
|
| Ain’t so firmly fixed
|
| And if you’d ask me I’d say:
|
| — Nix, Vendelay
|
| I know that life is very bad
|
| When you’re picking up the pieces
|
| Of what you had
|
| And people say:
|
| I want you, I want you, I want you!
|
| Yeah, they want you all right
|
| — But just for a while
|
| But hang on in there
|
| And you’ll pull it through
|
| 'Cause I believe in you, I do
|
| And there’s a reason why I do, Vendelay |