Hans Breitmann shoined de Turners,
Novemper in de fall,
Und dey gifed a boostin' bender
All in de Turner Hall.
Dere coomed de whole Gesangverein
Mit der Liederlich Aepfel Chor,
Und dey blowed on de drooms and stroomed on de fifes
Till dey couldn't refife no more.
Hans Breitmann shoined de Turners,
Dey all set oop some shouts,
Dey took'd him into deir Turner Hall,
Und poots him a course of shprouts.
Dey poots him on de barell-hell pars
Und shtands him oop on his head,
Und dey poomps de beer mit an enchine hose
In his mout' dill he's 'pout half tead!
Hans Breitmann shoined de Turners;
Dey make shimnastig dricks;
He stoot on de middle of de floor,
Und put oop a fifdy-six.
Und den he drows it to de roof,
Und schwig off a treadful trink:
De veight coom toomple back on his headt,
Und py shinks! he didn't vink!
Hans Breitmann shoined de Turners:
Mein Gott! how dey drinked und shwore;
Dere vas Schwabians und Tyrolers,
Und Bavarians by de score.
Some vellers coomed from de Rheinland,
Und Frankfort-on-de-Main,
Boot dere vas only von Sharman dere,
Und he vas a Holstein Dane.
Hans Breitmann shoined de Turners,
Mit a Limpurg' cheese he coom;
Vhen he open de box it schmell so loudt
It knock de musik doomb.
Vhen de Deutschers kit de flavour,
It coorl de haar on deir head;
Boot dere vas dwo Amerigans dere;
Und, py tam! it kilt dem dead!
Hans Breitmann shoined de Turners;
De ladies coomed in to see;
Dey poot dem in de blace for de gals,
All in der gal-lerie.
Dey ashk: 'Vhere ish der Breitmann?'
Und dey dremple mit awe and fear
Vhen dey see him schwingen' py de toes,
A trinken' lager beer.
Hans Breitmann shoined de Turners:
I dells you vot py tam!
Dey sings de great Urbummellied:
De holy Sharman psalm.
Und vhen de kits to de gorus
You ought to hear dem dramp!
It scared der Teufel down below
To hear de Dootchmen stamp.
Hans Breitmann shoined de Turners:
By Donner! it vas grand,
Vhen de whole of dem goes valkin
Und dancin' on deir hand,
Mit deir veet all vavin' in de air,
Gottstausend! vot a dricks!
Dill der Breitmann fall und dey all go down
Shoost like a row of bricks.
Hans Breitmann shoined de Turners,
Dey lay dere in a heap,
And slept dill de early sonnen shine
Come in at de vindow creep;
And de preeze it vake dem from deir dream,
And dey go to kit deir feed:
Here hat dis song an ende
Das ist DES BREITMANNSLEID.