Yo mama, yo daddy, yo greasy granny, got a hole in her panty, got a big behind like Frankenstein and goes beep, beep, beep down Sesame Street. The beard and the hair are all the same, but they're not like him. Everyone declares and speaks in his name, as if they were him. I wonder what he's thinking. If I could see how they fill up with money talking about him. Without knowing anything about him, everyone buys his shirt. Without knowing who he was, his name and his face don't stop selling. He's not Fidel's brother, nor Pinochet's relative. He was born in Argentina and became a king by running. He's not from La Epoca de Vista, despite the musical, and he was never Perón's assistant. I wonder why he got it. Without knowing who he was, everyone declares and speaks in his name, but they're not like him. I wonder why he got it. To be Jesus Christ at the end of the millennium. The beard and the hair are all the same, but they're not like him. Everyone declares and speaks in his name, as if they were him. I wonder what he's thinking. If I could see his name and his face, they don't stop selling. They killed him like a dog in Bolivia. They killed him like a dog in Bolivia. They killed him like a dog in Bolivia. He comes back and comes back a thousand times. Or the one who never dies, the one who doesn't fear dying. He looks like McEvarras. Hey, Donald. He looks like McEvarras. Hey, Donald. He looks like McEvarras.