Where is my money?

By the way, where's my money, I'd like to know.
I paid the city a lot of money to improve this parking lot.
A place to rent for life.
Where's that deputy with the metal in her voice?
I didn't talk to her the other day.
This improvement was designed on my dime by a retarded pedestrian.
He's probably eating up an exorbitant amount of money, still on resort shores.

But one-way through traffic through a development without proper signage.
It's the kind of space planning only an idiot would design.
They entrusted it to the city planner's niece, an aspiring architect?
Congratulations to the parents, but it wasn't a construction college, it was a special dispensary.

And now any cab driver parks in my spot,
who didn't pay a dime for it.
Thank you for that, huh?
Where's my money? And for oil and coal?
Whose children and grandchildren have it? Where is it?
That song plays in my head all the time.
Where did you put the money from the treasury?
You want more territories for your beautification?
We've seen it.

The statute of limitations is up and I can't even sue.
Yes, I'm sorry about the glass pyramid on Pushkinskaya too.
It was a great democratic restaurant.
Don't you remember? I've known that corner since birth, unlike them.
The restaurant was only there for five years and then they tore it down.
Yeah, overlooking McDonald's. And now it's gone.
Well, I mean, everybody has more than enough questions for them.
But the officials aren't gonna answer any, are they?
They've learned to add a commanding metal to their voices.
It sounds really ridiculous, really.

What a pretty song is playing in my head today.
I think it's the Internationale motif.
Oh, my God, I'm not a communist at all.
Well, those who sued in time won their lawsuits and got their money back.
But I'm just not a litigious person and I don't like courts.
That's why I have these songs in my head in the metronome of my pulse.
Where is my money?

And it's a rhetorical question, in the absence of any rhetoric.
is the song of a man who's had his wallet stolen in a crowd.
Let's sing the misery of it with the whole nation.
And figuratively speaking, we all know who the thief is.

Well, when I'm sober, I start a conversation with money.
and I end it the same way.
And I don't trust anyone who talks about money,
is talking about something else.

Are they sober? And I've had my doubts for a long time and still do.
Everything has a beneficiary.
And if you are not, in a situation like this,
then perhaps congratulations are in order.
Because it's a profit of a much higher order than banknotes.
But first, about the money. Show me your fat wallet.
And then we can continue to talk about high ideals.


Translated with DeepL.com (free version)