When I rush through the streets in my pigeon-blue sports jacket, then linger in front of the rubber shop, then the window panes show how the girl's eyes rub against my muscles. There they gaff again, the fat ones, the thin ones, the big and small ones, but I'm not interested. Women's legs, I'm not interested in women's legs, I'm on the road in matters of fish glue. God, let them cry before longing, tears don't touch me at all. With yellow pants and sports jacket the girls find me naturally nice, I'm not interested in women's legs, I'm on the road in matters of fish glue. And when I feel comfortable and take one with me to the store, then I put it in the closet of the others. That's how it goes with me. I'm not interested in women's legs, I'm on the road in matters of fish glue. Fish glue, fish glue, fish glue...