nagdidilagang tilapia

My neighbor's horny adolescent girl, the same one I see tiptoeing home at the whip of dawn on the roof behind their house, so her parents won't know she and her boyfriend joyrode each other the previous night, is singing. Oh God. I can hear her, from our kitchen, the part of this house closest to theirs.

And God can she sing.

Wait. That was supposed to be a question. God, can she sing?

I rummage through my brain for words to capture how bakya she sounds, whining like a guilty rat trapped in a balon. But that's not enough, and I find that what I want can only be said in Tagalog.

She sings like, kung kumanta siya, parang... (go back to the title of this post.)