Soy Un Fumador

I'm a smoker, a mental case.
I cough all day and my mouth smells bad.
Half of what I earn I give away without thinking
to my master Philip Morris who will manage it.
He will manage it.
I'm a smoker and, even if the sky is blue,
I'm always surrounded by a cloud of smoke.
I know I stink but I can't choose:
if I quit, what will Humphrey Bogart think of me?
What will he think of me?

Health authorities warn
that I don't give a damn about health authorities warning
that I don't give a damn about health authorities.

I'm the smoker who smoked in your elevator.
My doctor says a tumor is rotting me
but I'm fine with it because I love the bad smell
and taking down those around me.
Let them die like me!

I'm a smoker and that's that.
You say to put it out, but hey! Who do you think you are?
If I give up my cigarette, my glamour will vanish
and the Marlboro cowboy, what will he think of me?
What will he think of me?

Health authorities warn
that I don't give a damn about health authorities warning
that I don't give a damn about health authorities.

I could have the flu and be on the verge of puking
but I'll light another one because I have to stink you out.
I have to stink you out!