Dear man in the dusty suite,
How dost though feel this good New York morning?
Dost though know that thine cackling ist so fair?
Dost though know that thy singing is like an angel's prayer?
And when you heckle the ladies walking by
I cans't but imagine that they blush from the high
of being so flattered by your chaste and noble thoughts
or of all the young, noble children your loins would them fraught
My favorite dusty friend, who's hammer pounds so true
who shuts off my cable, and my hot water too
without blinking any eye, because you needed to squat there
so shut off my lights too if they but showed a speck of dirt on your lucky underwear
So cackle and hammer on, my noble foreign friend
you bring me such joy like a hot stinging fart in the wind
What music you'll showed me, in the wee morning hours
my gift is your song, for the next sevenhundredthousand hours.