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The Gorilla

Through the big cage of the circus,
the women from all the neighborhood
were gazing at the gorilla

If you're a dick

They were just now born, gazing at the world with their tiny noses,
and they're already about to say that all the old people are dicks.
When they become old steak-chewers full of gripes,
they say that youngsters are all such dicks.
 
Since I am in the middle ground,
I'll tell them with this song:
time is not that important,
if you're a dick you're a dick.
Years make no difference,
if you're a dick you're a dick.
Cut it out with this quarrel,
you pricks from the past and the present,
old dicks from wartime,
and dicks who're still lads,
you little prats from the new era,
and all you grumbling old farts.
 
There's young dicks, younger dicks and not so young,
who go and tell their dad or their grandpa 'you're dicks'.
There's senile dicks sitting on benches with sticks,
always complaining that all the young people are dicks.
 
Since I am in the middle ground,
I'll tell them with this song:
time is not that important,
if you're a dick you're a dick.
Years make no difference,
if you're a dick you're a dick.
Cut it out with this quarrel,
you pricks from the past and the present,
old dicks from wartime,
and dicks who're still lads,
you little prats from the new era,
and all you grumbling old farts.
 

Poor Martin

With his spade always on his shoulder,
a song just to sing something,
a song just to sing something,
deep in his heart a staunch will,
always digging and nothing else...
 
Poor Martin, poor fool,
digging the ground, digging your time.
 
For twopence and a loaf of bread,
early in the morning, at noon, at night,
early in the morning, at noon, at night,
back and forth around the hill
digging ground until dead tired...
 
Poor Martin, poor fool,
digging the ground, digging your time.
 
A face as hard as larch,
neither jealous nor mean,
neither jealous nor mean,
he's dug up other people's land
like this his whole life, without a smile...
 
Poor Martin, poor fool,
digging the ground, digging your time.
 
And when death looked in his face
and told him to stop digging,
and told him to stop digging,
he began digging his own grave,
quietly, quickly, and alone.
 
Poor Martin, poor fool,
digging the ground, digging your time.
 
He dug his own grave by hand,
in case someone came over,
in case someone came over,
and then lied down there quickly,
without a word to anyone...
 
Poor Martin, poor fool,
sleeping in the ground, under your time.