Mr Fish under cashiers blouse....

Rolling on, on my rollerblades of steel. Poker in my mind and a clear shooting on the table that i left behind one chilly early monday morning.

My mobile phone rang one morning when i was shopping for my fish. That fish jumped away from me hided under a stone.

I dont like your tone mr fish, i dont like your money mrs cashier.

Show me what you got beneath your skin, your genes. Whistle the skinny genes that Eliza sang.

Life aint more true than you have a dollar in your pocket or two. A cent for my friend and a beer for me. Your point of view has always been a political expertise in a world we dont like.

Show me properly what you like bout my skinny fish, he who hided when i heard you sing that song.

Drink on a train and leave me alone, i will anyway go off in next station here in Buffalo.

Smoke from a cigar smoke from your brain, now you thought again. It is a smelly taste that only you are use to.

I never change, i will never walk away, but i dont like your attitude, neither your latitude.

hate me love me, did you know that its the same feeling, same same but different, so do it properly right. I do forgive you.

Mrs cashier sang skinny genes, mr fish danced the funky shit.

Me, i always leave in that train that missed you so.......