ганс (Hans)

Old, holey skull
In a rusty German helmet
Said he was a soldier
And his name was Hans

He poured me strong schnapps
And played the harmonica
Do you remember Hans Horst Wessel
March of the assault battalions?

And in the morning I remembered
That I drank more schnapps yesterday
I racked my brains and realized
Yes, it was true!

The memory returned
It stands and waits by the house
It's like the angel of death
And now her word

It's the truth, damn it
And if necessary, she'll start shooting again