Pierre

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!