The Monster Hit

My fingers itch and so does my mind

I sit here with my guitar about to write music of some

Kind

The latest weeks of pasta has turned my belly into a

Balloon

And the lack of toilet-paper has made me look like a

Baboon

Maybe I should try to write a Mc Donaldґs-kind-of-song

Real easy to chew for everybody from Oslo to Hong Kong

The bills have to be paid and the dogs have to be fed

I dig and I dig for a profitable hookline in my head...

But when we think we got it

Our million dollar hit

We throw the chords around a bit

And no one understands it

Itґs kinda hard to admit

Our expected monster hit

Has turned into a pile of shit

And no one understands it

No one understands it...