Nein, meine Söhne geb ich nicht [English translation]

ye senators, i wanted to inform you

you great actors of state, and high-born ones

don't pick my words apart again, I've warned you

you took the farm, and now you're coming for my sons

i nurtured them, and love 'em with abandon

and every year much more so than before

wrapped them in diapers, that my wife was handin'

and no, you won't have my sons anymore

no, you won't have my sons anymore

i taught them have respect for every creature

to feel pity, to feel mercy and forgive

contrary to what in your world i'm seeing

I don't stand for what you're burdening them with

they do not have a need for all your venom

they do not have a need for all your lies

i won't watch them shipped back in sacks of linen

and you won't watch them bleed and hear their cries

and putting up with you is quite a chore

but you, won't have my sons anymore

I taught them to be men among mere creatures

and now all men are dead or are in jail

the scum you are, I read it by your features

and reasoning with you's to no avail

those taxes that I paid, you never earned them

you bend the law to your liking, yes you do

those taxes that I paid, you'll never learn then

were just a bribe to keep them away from you

you wrote me these ten letters, go write some more..

you won't have my sons anymore

no you won't have my sons anymore

i sent them to your schools, what did you teach them

to university, what have they learned

you filled their head with dross, so I couldn't reach them

you made a dollar for every nickel that they earned

those dollars and utopias you presented

and spinning yarn you never seem to tire of

are just a substitute that you invented

for a father's wisdom and a mother's love

you made a lot of money, go make some more

cause you won't have my sons no more

no you won't have my sons no more

I'll rather have them homestead in the sierra

than have them be your well trained puppy dogs

I know of all your plans, your "war on terra"

you fillers of latrines, and fat happy hogs

they won't believe those things that you're pretending

when you read your script with a painted plastered face

your sons grew rich with loot and money lending

for those are the great virtues of your race

go farm some land or dig some iron ore

cause you won't have my sons no more

no, you won't have my sons no more

I'd rather be a gypsy ever roaming

and show them all the world has got to show

than make them slave to all your constant moaning

and set 'em up and put 'em on death row

they will grow strong and see their children's children

as i still breathe, this is my only aim

and they won't use the toys of war you're building

to protect some other scum's ill gotten gain

pour yourself a pint of pity, and some more

you won't have my sons anymore

no, you won't have my sons anymore