That won the Kaiser's praise,
Which showed your nasty mental state,
And made us laugh for days.
I can't compete with such as you
In doggerel of mine,
But this is certain—and it's true,
You bloody-handed swine—
We do not mouth a song of hate, or talk about you—much,
We do not mention things like you—it wouldn't be polite;
One doesn't talk in drawing-rooms of Prussian dirt and such,