Оригинален текст
He gets up every morning
and he lights upon the floor
then migrates to the washroom
and he opens up the door
the whiskers on his chin tell him he's in and then
through the paste and the soap
he sees his image without hope
he's a broom of a fellow
an oddity in parenthesis
so infected with disease of yellow dirt down in his soul
He usually spends his spare time
counting hairs upon his arm
the ants around the cupboard
to his thinking add their charm
he never stops to notice
that his shoes are fulla lead
he's dead through cough
and labored breathing he is seething
he's a sandwich of a fellow
an all-spread personality
so infected with disease of yellow dirt down in his soul
Last night a thousand stars were his
to mold like clay and so
in one split second's anger
he did reach and take a hold
he saw himself a captain way off on some kissin' situation
that would have made his father proud
he laughs out loud
he conceals the hurt
he reveals the dirt
the yellow dirt down in his soul
yellow dirt down in his soul
yellow dirt down in his soul
yellow dirt down in his soul
He's got his dirt down in his soul
he's got his dirt down in his soul, now, now
he's got his dirt down in his soul
he's got his dirt down in his soul, now, now
he's got his dirt down in his soul
It would have made his father proud
he laughs out loud
he conceals the hurt
he reveals the dirt
the yellow dirt down in his soul
yellow dirt down in his soul
yellow dirt down in his soul
yellow dirt down in his soul
yellow dirt down in his soul
yellow dirt down in his soul
yellow dirt down in his soul