De shpies go valkin out und in,
Ash sassy ash can pe;
Und in de voods de push-whackers
Are makin foon of me!

"Oh vere I on my schimmel grey
Mein sabre in mein hand,
Dey should drack me py de ruins
Of de houses troo de land.
Dey should drack me py de puzzards
High sailen ofer head,
A vollowin der Breitmann's trail
To claw de repel dead."

Outspoke der bold Von Stossenheim,
Who had theories of Gott:
"O Breitmann, dis ish shoodgement on
De vays dat you hafe trot.
You only lifes to joy yourself,
Yet you, yourself moost say,
Dat self-defelopment requires
De religios Idee."

Dey sat dem down and argued id,
Like Deutschers vree from fear,
Dill dey schmoke ten pounds of knaster,
Und drinked drei fass of bier.
Der Breitmann go py Schopenhauer,
Boot Veit he had him denn;
For he dook him on de angles