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Drip Coffee

As soon as I get out of bed, I boil the water,
I drink my morning coffee, before I wash my face,
I need at least half an hour to wake up
But when I’m really in a hurry the one from the coffee maker works too
Or I sit for three hours, or I drink one at the door
A month of coffee eats up almost all of my paycheck
This has been my routine for over 20 years
Morning isn’t morning without coffee, cigarettes, and the newspaper.
And on a hangover I’d rather drink two less
And I tell the waiter to ask everyone what they want to order
Some like theirs bitter, some a little sweeter,
Everyone likes drinking coffee no matter whether they’re old or young
 
When my body betrays me, when exhaustion catches up with me,
When the day starts off wrong, coffee gives me a boost
I haven’t opened my eyes yet, but the water is on the gas stove
One would say that I’m addicted to caffeine
I go out into town, when it’s a beautiful day
I invite my friend just so I’m not drinking coffee alone.
After a bad night when I can’t get myself together
I drink the 3 in 1-it’s easier to make
In the café with good coffee, I was enjoying myself
But there where it’s bad I have never entered again
It’s not real for my folks, they say it’s not healthy
I listen to them a bit, and then off to get really laid
 
The first think I drink is a bulletproof coffee,
We throw it back, to clear the fog
Butter and Jaffa immediately get the brain started
Coconut oil, direct from Jamaica.
I slurp and slurp, up until a heart attack
The blood pressure is increasing, it’s hitting and getting stronger
I can’t sit, I get up, and pace around
I sprint towards the town, my brothers are waiting for me
Hide those beers, may your fathers fuck you
I’ll take an espresso, but give me the shortest one.
I don’t want sugar, milk, nor cream
The best one is warm and plain as well
In the evening in bed as if connected to devices
Sleep won’t come and this has been going on for hours
I stare at the ceiling with shining eyes
I wait for the dawn so I can put the kettle on
 
The first and last stop of the day is coffee
I can drink it for hours, the coffee from the machine
It doesn’t matter where we’re at, homemade or espresso
Waiter, give us the check for these auto drip coffees
 

Boor

Ena came to Sarajevo to earn her degree,
Boris, from Čengić Vila, he works in the bar scene.
They first met each other at their friend Sami's,
Known in their circle for throwing crazy parties.
A message, coffee, kiss, and brandy,
A desire 'came over' them, as with Laki*, it was handy.
Both sides were physical, like a yo-yo,
They knew right away this was the way to go.
But Ena also knew something from the start,
Where she came from, which 'hood and which part,
From her mother Selmica and father Fočo Kemica,
The village of Doboj, in Kakanj, in Zenica.
 
You are my folk, my religion, my nation,
You are my politics and my generation.
You are my only country and occupation,
The club that I support and my representation.
 
She turned to her best friend Nina about the guy:
'He's not a Muslim!' - 'Hello, neither am I...'
But she would still have accepted this happily,
The problem was clearing it up with her family.
And one night it was Nina who pled,
Come to a party at Sami's, she was somehow misled.
And there was Boris, drunk with a smoke stink,
She had also had a bit too much to drink.
And then by itself, it started all over again,
He was at her place until 5am, she at his from 5am-5pm.
But when back home for Eid she had come down,
The old man found out, as did the whole town.
 
You are my folk, my religion, my nation,
You are my politics and my generation.
You are my only country and occupation,
The club that I support and my representation.
 
'I DIDN'T PAY YOUR SCHOOL FOR YOU TO WHORE AROUND,
BUT SO YOU COULD STUDY, GOT IT NOW?
YOU'LL GO TO TURKEY WITH YOUR AUNT, ALLAH TAKE MY WORD,
I SENT YOU TO SARAJEVO THINKING THERE IS NOT A SINGLE SERB!'
But when Boris heard about this, he ran out in wrath,
Sat in his car, and found the highway path.
No word from Ena, he got the address from Nina and split,
'It's the yellow house past the fountain, you can't miss it!'
Her cousin calling about some crazy traffic deal,
She fled through the window and got in his wheels.
Heading for Sarajevo, the city under Trebević,
Where there are still good stories to preach.
 
You are my folk, my religion, my nation,
You are my politics and my generation.
You are my only country and occupation,
The club that I support and my representation.
 
Boor, what a boor,
Boor, what a boor.