(ω Θεέ μου, πάλι μέσα στο καλάθι με τα άπλυτα το ξέχασε ο αδιόρθωτος)
I woke up this morning with a bad hangover
And my p was missing again.
This happens all the time.
It’s detachable.
This comes in handy a lot of the time.
I can leave it home, when I think
it’s gonna get me in trouble,
or I can rent it out, when I don’t need it.
But now and then I go to a party, get drunk,
and the next morning I can’t for the life of me
remember what I did with it.
First I looked around my apartment, and I couldn’t find it.
So I called up the place where the party was,
they hadn’t seen it either.
I asked them to check the medicine cabinet
’cause for some reason I leave it there sometimes
But not this time.
So I told them if it pops up to let me know.
I called a few people who were at the party,
but they were no help either.
I was starting to get desperate.
I really don’t like being without my p for too long.
It makes me feel like less of a man,
and I really hate having to sit down
every time I take a leak.
After a few hours of searching the house,
and calling everyone I could think of,
I was starting to get very depressed,
so I went to the Kiev, and ate breakfast.
Then, as I walked down Second Avenue
towards St. Mark’s Place,
where all those people sell used books
and other junk on the street,
I saw my p lying on a blanket
next to a broken toaster oven.
Some guy was selling it.
I had to buy it off him.
He wanted twenty-two bucks, but I
talked him down to seventeen.
I took it home, washed it off,
and put it back on. I was happy again. Complete.
People sometimes tell me I should get
it permanently attached,
but I don’t know.
Even though sometimes it’s a pain in the ass,
I like having a detachable p
(αντικαταστήστε το p με ο,τι τραβάει η ψυχή σας και φτιάξτε το δικό σας τραγουδάκι , girls will luv it)
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