Pop music crushes our souls,

It can’t be brought to justice.

|A generations grew on fouls,

 You can’t trust this ...

 

Oh, sunny forest, oh, miracle song!

 We were singing in captivity, boys!

Soon freedom has come along,

 With squeaky and vulgar voice.

 

Words mean nothing,

 The wails of only sounds.

That one is famous who’s with pounds.

The one who goes out without pants,

Without conscience, without chants.

 

Where is the song you would like to sing?

Where are the words you’d never forget?

 Why do you bawl about the thing

You didn’t get and you regret?

 

Adding hoarseness for importance,                                                                   

By TV screen and restaurant supportance,

They pour the salt on the wounds,

As on cucumbers or another food.

 

An asexual figure, not dressed for the season
Exposed the body for no reason

It's so disgusting. Sing us, Ken!

About tender women and brave men.