Oh, have you seen father himself
who waltzes around with his bottom bare
and does not shoes or trousers have
and not any money
He plays on his concertina
And the children, they become more and more
And sun goes up and sun goes down
And never any money
But screw the money and screw the treasure
I eat old bread and drink water
And sleep like a timber log at night
And of rats, I have the pantry full
And for pay, the nightingale did not sing
Gloss and greatness make only shells
Flash and adornment make food for the moth
and all the rats in the pantry
I fill the stomach of mine with song
when the gut goes pling and plong
If the purse is full some time,
then it is not of money
In the testament, it shall be written:
You life is made for living
And honour, you can never get
And not any money
And for pay, the nightingale did not sing
Gloss and greatness make only shells
Flash and adornment make food for the moth
and all the rats in the pantry
And be happy for the one who ate himself fat
You have paid for his diet
And forget worries and chagrins
And do not care about money
Because the one who stuffs his stomach full
and sips wine for the palate's sake
will still only turn to grit and earth
despite all their money
And for pay, the nightingale did not sing
Gloss and greatness make only shells
Flash and adornment make food for the moth
and all the rats in the pantry