I got a call from my old writing partner from college, Jeff, and, you know, we're kinda drinking and talking on the phone, and he goes, "You know, I bet you that I can name a subject that you can't write a song about." And I said, "Alright, fucker, let's hear it, whatta you got?" And he goes, "How 'bout a homeless guy?" And I said, "Easy." And he said, "... who is French." ... Let's give it a shot. If this doesn't go over, I owe him a lot of money. My story's so tiresome! Let's try that again. My story's so tiresome! (... tiresome.) Back in France, I was rich as they come. (... as they come.) But I lost all my wealth, And my good mental health. Now I live with ze filth and ze scum. (... and ze scum.) I'm Pierre, ze only French bum in New York! When I open my Boone's Farm, I still sniff ze cork! So, have you a quarter? I'm begging you, please! I have to have wine with my government cheese. I really should bid you adieu. (... bid adieu.) I'm feeling a bit sacre bleu. (... ... sacre bleu.) My life is a hell, I give off a bad smell, But I'm French, so that's always been true! Pee-yew!