Have You a Kopek, Sir
O, how my sensitive soul writhes
as I struggle to tithe
the coppers of this starving artist's anxiety
who so wants to change society
Who paints and paints to no good end
and pines away for home or friend
Braves the icy winter and blazing summer
while his prospects look ever-glummer
Ahoy! You there! In the handsome fur
Have you a kopek for le artiste, sir?...
Ach! What’s the use? I’ve soured on this gig
Changing the world’s not worth a fig!
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