Fuckin' Mr. President

No es mi estilo de música favorito, pero una queja es una queja y este blog viene a ser algo así como mi departamento de quejas...

Pink: Dear Mr. President

Dear Mr. President,
come take a walk with me.
Let's pretend we're just two people
and you're not better than me.
I'd like to ask you some questions
if we can speak honestly.

What do you feel when you see all the homeless on the street?
Who do you pray for at night before you go to sleep?
What do you feel when you look in the mirror?
Are you proud?

How do you sleep while the rest of us cry?
How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Can you even look me in the eye and tell me why?

Dear Mr. President,
were you a lonely boy?
Are you a lonely boy?
Are you a lonely boy?

How can you say no child is left behind?
We're not dumb and we're not blind,
they're all sitting in your cells
while you pave the road to hell.

What kind of father would take his own daughter's rights away?
And what kind of father might hate his own daughter if she were gay?
I can only imagine what the first lady has to say.
You've come a long way from whiskey and cocaine.

How do you sleep while the rest of us cry?
How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Can you even look me in the eye?

Let me tell you 'bout hard work:
minimum wage with a baby on the way.
Let me tell you 'bout hard work:
rebuilding your house after the bombs took them away.
Let me tell you 'bout hard work:
building a bed out of a cardboard box.
Let me tell you 'bout hard work,
hard work,
hard work...
You don't know nothing 'bout hard work,
hard work,
hard work...

How do you sleep at night?
How do you walk with your head held high?

Dear Mr. President,
you'd never take a walk with me.

Would you?