The pots and the pans
Of a polish man
With his coiled hand
He does what he can
Feet in the sand
Piece of the pie
With his coiled hand
He gives it a try
Waving his arms
He’s taking a stroll
Finding his charm
But burns it to coal
(He is the man)
He does what he can
(He is the man)
He does what he can
(He is the man)
He does what he can
But when his conscience gets thick
He feels like a dick
Sitting alone
Pants on fire
Head in the sky
Face in the fryеr
Born with a crease
In between his еyes
With a porky smile
It’ll take him a while
(He is the man)
He does what he can
(He is the man)
He does what he can
(He is the man)
He does what he can
But when his conscience gets thick
He feels like it fits
With his coiled hand
He does what he can
With his coiled hand
He does what he can
He is the man
He does what he can
But when his conscience gets thick
He feels like a dick
He is the man
He does what he can
But when his conscience gets thick
He feels like a dick
With his coiled hand
With his coiled hand
With his coiled hand
He does what he can
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