Sourkrout and Sausages.
I marry my frow—some childer I gets
As fat as little pigs,
Dey eat me out of my house un home
Un boterr me mit some rigs.
Chorus.—Sourkrout un Sausages—
Schnapps un lager bier,
I wish I was home mit my frow,
As any place but here.
My frow do noting but scold and scratch,
Un weare my breeches, too;
When I open my mouth she takes a stick
Un beats me black and blue.
Sourkrout un Sausages, etc.
I live mit her as long as I can,
Den I runs away—
To list for a soldier un Basastopole,
To fight for a shilling a day.
Sourkrout un Sausages, etc.
De army is bad as tounge of my frow,
It is as worse by far—
De Russias stick me if I goes on front
Un I’m killed if I go to de rear.
Sourkrout and Sausages, etc.
All you men has got frows yus’e dake mine advice,
Un put up mit dere ire,
To list for a soldier is jumping out
Of de frying pan into the fire.
Sourkrout un Sausages, etc.