Children of the Anschlus
These green white mountains are no longer ours
We shall no longer dance valse in the streets
The sweet scent of schtrudel will stop linger in the fresh
air

Because from today we are children of the anschlus
Let us unite with our violent brothers above
And become as one, ruining our world

Hail those war makers, crushing the human spirit
Cast blood upon the lovely land
The violins fall and the guns sing instead
Let us be their choir

We are children of the anschlus
Proud we stand among those low-lives
Proud we eat our schnitzels
And proud we will be pink-cheeked as thee.



Stolen routine
How dare those fatzos stole our lives?
How their conscience let them interapt our women in the
sacred time of cooking?
We will not be quite, we will scream! politely, of course.

Leave now your plates and battle for our rights
Dont let them take the most precious thing we have
Because who are the polish without their routine?

Dont run for your lives, fight for the treasure
The gefilte-fish will never eat by the pink ones!
Army of the chicken soup ready for the final battle
Cannons of kneidalach bombing the human cabages
Farmers on donkeys throw bombs of crepalach
See how the sausage eaters run for cover
And hail proudly our mothers of chunt

We dont want to fight for our freedom
We just want to come back home and be yelled by our wifes
for not eating the whole lunch


Dance of the drunken
For as we live in the dream
That we are still the greatest nation in the world
We dont care if the continent is on fire
But when clowns of beer tries to take the degree from us
We will march out from the pubs and fight until the last
drop

When jews are slaughtered
We send our girls to please the humanity
When europians swim in rivers of blood
We bath joyfully in rivers of vodka
When the main clown cant grow his honour simbol
Our sunshine is master in the moustache theory

Now it's personal, you domination cravers
We will crush your anglo-saxon spirit
None of you can beat whore nation
You will die in a flood of smirnoff
And we will celebrate glory of inferiors
Back to lay down drunk in the streets.


Divine football players
For all of you with doubt in your laughter
Remain with the laughter
No-one wants to die with tears on his cheeks
Aspecially when they are not pink

On ground made of kneidalach
When thunders hits the grey sky
You fall to your knees with fear in your eyes
Your noses misled you
The divine football players own the world

We will spill the vodka
Dismember the chicken
Stamp the tomato
And crown the sausage for everlasting god

What is left from the world lies in our oily hands
We will kill all things with the colours of earth
For men prefer blonds
And the divine football players won the championship.