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(Str. I)

There is a generation with no ideas

No fucking clue what to do, no fucking skills

Their attitude is hanging around with friends

Talking 'bout fucking bullshit, no fucking plans

(Str. II)

They've never learned what it means to love one thing

They love just big mac, donuts and chicken wings

No serious conviction that everyone

Has to make exercises and not just fun

(Chorus)

We don't need a holy war

And no weapons

But believe me they will fall

'Cause the world'll forget them

(Middle)

After the war we celebrated the "Marshall-wonders, bombastic beat"

And the war-trauma in every soul we've compensated with affluence

(Str. III)

There was a generation without a mind

They worked in factories until they were blind

All of their emptiness, fear and all their doubt

've inherited their children I write about

(Chorus)