In a cave deep below the mountain
on sparkling fire, far away from daylight
lives a man, old and crinkly
with his fiddle, the crooked guy
When the moonlight comes out
he takes his fiddle, carefully tuned
wents out in the night woods
and plays a song for the animals
Carefully the birds listen to the sound
when a strage feeling comes up their heads
they wonder for a short while
and fall dead from the branches
The bears sit peacefull in the leaves
the man arrives and plays his fiddle loud
with howling cries the flee into the forest
but to late and noone escaped
Wurzelbert, Wurzelbert, Wurzelbert, play your fiddle!
Wurzelbert, Wurzelbert, Wurzelbert, play your fiddle!
Wurzelbert, Wurzelbert, Wurzelbert, play your fiddle!
Wurzelbert, Wurzelbert, Wurzelbert, play your fiddle!
Dark the water, the man arrives
the sound reaches the whole plane
and also deep to the ground
the water is full of dead carps
Lonly, beaten, the man goes home
How hates and loves he his wooden fiddle ...
Wurzelbert, Wurzelbert, Wurzelbert, play your fiddle!
Wurzelbert, Wurzelbert, Wurzelbert, play your fiddle!
Wurzelbert, Wurzelbert, Wurzelbert, play your fiddle!
Wurzelbert, Wurzelbert, Wurzelbert, play your fiddle!
Miles of walking though thick copse
a horde of long hairs, dancing around the fire
he puts his fiddle up to his chin, ready to play
the people wait for a while, listen carefully
Afer hours of playing thunderous applause
the mood is boiling and the women strip
the people hail the old root-guy
who can make women much more satisfied with his roots
Wurzelbert! Wurzelbert! Wurzelbert!
Play your fiddle!