We are all born of love in this old country Where only old, very old monkeys sit At the controls of our liberties At the switches of our integrities
So let's hit our noses That always makes them laugh Come on, let's hit each other That always brings them a lot of money When they sell us knives And insane ideas So that our little lives cover themselves In violence and hatred So what, we will sleep outside Under the bridges, under the bridges of gold That others built to go from their kitchen To their living...
CHORUS Their living room It's no pudding, it's no wind It's the living room of the old wise monkeys Living living living room
We are all born, my friend We are all alive/living, it's written In our eye, you see, it glows A desire for life, a desire
To travel the world This great Earth, so round But no, but no, see how they scold us Because without permit You mustn't let yourself go
Dreaming of another life, my friend No, you mustn't dream Because to dream, you need permits Of paper, to live your life
On the other side of the bridge, of the golden bridges, outside There are tons of them, it's not that we don't know about them Because we often see them go from their kitchen To their living...
CHORUS
There you see, if you think about it, how We all have become elephants Gnus, giraffes, orang-utans Under surveillance in our reservations And to make sure we don't get lost As a herd or even all alone, isolated In the next reservation You are sure to stumble upon a bone/os...
Osteopath for whom it is the first time
And who will dismember you, it's his job To take away your desire For forbidden travels
Forbidden in our old country Where only old, very old monkeys sit In their kitchen they are pondering How to improve their living...