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!