El president

We have a president
that we don’t deserve
reads the daily news, wears a beret,
climbs Pedraforca whistling
The Holy Thorn.
By day he’s president,
by day he’s honorable,
at night when no one’s around
he loses his cool.

And at Sant Jaume every day
shortly after the sun sets
you wouldn’t believe the orgies
that President Pujol throws.
And screwing in the offices,
getting off on the balcony,
all the councilors are wasted
or glued to the bar.
Marta the florist
gets a little action
and she doesn’t take her eyes
off that lily standing tall.

JORDI PUJOL, SEX, DRUGS,
AND ROCK’N’ROLL

With Lluís who’s on speed
they’re tripping balls,
and they’re rolling up a ton
of weed and other stuff.
Duran Lleida and Cullell
do whatever Jordi tells them,
they don’t bring bakery coke,
they bring Colombian blow,
and I see them so happy
when they’ve snorted the coke,
running through the hallways
of the Generalitat.

Contrary to what it seemed
neither sardana nor Gregorian
what Jordi likes
is hardcore and ska.
Pujol on guitar
with a wig down to his feet,
Roca tica ka bataka,
Gasòliba does the vocals.
Maragall is dying of envy
from the City Hall
hearing them play rock,
the rock of the President.