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Wann den Hënner duerch schéngt

 
Hei héiert der déi geschwate Versioun.
 

 
Wann däi Kolli eemol knaschteg an däin Hiem net grad méi wäiss,
Wann s de nuets net schléifs wëlls du keen Auswee aus der Merde gesäis,
Da bass du en aarmen Däiwel a per Du mat Suerg an Nout,
Mä du kenns d'Verzweiwlung nach net déi sou schlëmm ass wéi der Doud.
Well ech denken et gëtt näischt wat grujeleg a méi uereg kléngt
Wéi dat Wëssen dass deng Box schonn op dem Hënner durech schéngt.
 
Am Theater wann den Held sou richteg an der Patsch mol sutz
War säi Kostüm al a schappeg an zerfatzt wéi all näischt Gutts
Aus der Loge gëtt applaudéiert wann e jéimert, kräischt a brëllt,
Mä ni fält et engem op dass d'Box bei all deem gutt duer hält.
't muss sou sinn, d'Leit géinge laachen iwwert d'Ongléck wéi en Ochs
Hätt den aarmen Held nach Patchen op dem Buedem vun der Box.
 
Du kanns ëmmer nach en Held sinn, hal däi Kapp schéin héich a riicht,
Trotz dem Lach dat duerch deng Stiwwelen an deng Strëmp derdurecht spiicht;
Jo, du bass méi gutt wéi muncher een op senger Liewensrees
Wann s de net léiwer driwwer laachs wéi no dem Matleed heesche gees.
Du trotz allen domme Blécker, an däin A et blëtzt, et blénkt,
Mä dee Bléck wa se gesinn dass bal den Hënner durech schéngt!
 
Wéi s de Geld has hues d'et ausginn — gleefs u Gott, an net u Gold —
Lo wou d'Geld méi knapp ass, soen d'Leit et wär deng eege Schold,
A si so'n du stierfs nach aarem, mä do laachs de dech just schlapp,
Daat sou laang deng Kleeder ganz sinn, an en Hutt op dengem Kapp,
Och wann d'Suel vum Schong méi dënn gëtt, laachs de iwwert hir Prognous,
Mä wann d'Box bis hallef duerch ass, gëtt deng Angscht direkt méi grouss.
 
Gesäit et lo an och fir d'Zukunft net grad rouseg fir dech aus,
So de Leit: Keng Angscht, ech kommen schonn aus där Affär eraus.
'T ass dat Bescht et sou ze dréinen — well kee Mann gëtt gären zou,
Dass en net op senger Héicht ass, a si loossen dech a Rou.
Mä 't ass schwéier fir däi Laachen ëm de Mond net opzeginn
Wann deng wichtegst Kleedungsstécker plazeweis bal durech sinn.
 
Géi däi beschte Frënd besichen, well do fënns de Trouscht a Rot,
Well bei deenen an're gëtt sech besser net ze vill beklot.
Däi Kolleeg deen tréischt dech sécher, wann s de jéimers, haart a fäin,
An e seet däi Mantel wier dach guer net sou schlëmm, "Kuck mol mäin!"
Wann s d'och iwwerall gefléckt bass, seet en: " 't fält net op", de Fox,
An e schwiert dass kee gesäit dass du e Lach hues an der Box.
 
Bridder si mer all am Ongléck, d'Zäit ass haart, mä gëff net op,
Hief Courage a bäiss dech durech, spéider laache mir do drop.
Wann Ägypten och kee Weess huet, sécher huet es Afrika —
Hal däi frout Gesiicht a Stand well besser Zäite kommen da!
An da laache mir zesummen iwwert laang vergaange Péng
A mir kafen eis nei Boxen wann den Hënner durech schéngt.
 

 

When Your Pants Begin to Go

 

 
When you wear a cloudy collar and a shirt that isn’t white,
And you cannot sleep for thinking how you’ll reach to-morrow night,
You may be a man of sorrow, and on speaking terms with Care,
But as yet you’re unacquainted with the Demon of Despair;
For I rather think that nothing heaps the trouble on your mind
Like the knowledge that your trousers badly need a patch behind.
 
I have noticed when misfortune strikes the hero of the play
That his clothes are worn and tattered in a most unlikely way;
And the gods applaud and cheer him while he whines and loafs around,
But they never seem to notice that his pants are mostly sound;
Yet, of course, he cannot help it, for our mirth would mock his care
If the ceiling of his trousers showed the patches of repair.
 
You are nonetheless a hero if you elevate your chin
When you feel the pavement wearing through the leather, sock and skin;
You are rather more heroic than are ordinary folk
If you scorn to fish for pity under cover of a joke;
You will face the doubtful glances of the people that you know;
But — of course, you’re bound to face them when your pants begin to go.
 
If, when flush, you took your pleasure — failed to make a god of Pelf —
Some will say that for your troubles you can only thank yourself;
Some will swear you’ll die a beggar, but you only laugh at that
While your garments hang together and you wear a decent hat;
You may laugh at their predictions while your soles are wearing through —
But a man’s an awful coward when his pants are going too!
 
Though the present and the future may be anything but bright,
It is best to tell the fellows that you're getting on all right.
And a man prefers to say it — ’tis a manly lie to tell,
For the folks may be persuaded that you’re doing very well;
But it’s hard to be a hero, and it’s hard to wear a grin,
When your most important garment is in places very thin.
 
Get some sympathy and comfort from the chum who knows you best,
Then your sorrows won’t run over in the presence of the rest;
There’s a chum that you can go to when you feel inclined to whine,
He’ll declare your coat is tidy, and he’ll say: “Just look at mine!”
Though you may be patched all over he will say it doesn’t show,
And he’ll swear it can’t be noticed when your pants begin to go.
 
Brother mine, and of misfortune! times are hard, but do not fret,
Keep your courage up and struggle, and we’ll laugh at these things yet.
Though there is no corn in Egypt, surely Africa has some —
Keep your smile in working order for the better days to come!
We shall often laugh together at the hard times that we know,
And get measured by the tailor when our pants begin to go.