Breitmann in Paris

'Recessit in Franciam.' 'Et affectu pectoris, Et toto gestu corporis, Et scholares maxime, Qui festa colunt optime.' - Carmina Burana, 13th century. Der teufel's los in Bal Mabille, Dere's hell-fire in de air, De fiddlers can't blay noding else Boot Orph'e aux Enfers: Vot makes de beoples howl mit shoy? Da capo Bravo! bis!! It's a Deutscher aus Amerik': Hans Breitmann in Paris. Dere's silber toughts vot might hafe peen, Dere's golden deeds vot must: Der Hans ish come to Frankenland On one eternal bust. Der same old rowdy Argonaut Vot hoont de same oldt vleece, A hafin all de foon dere ish Der Breitmann in Paris. Mit a gal on eider shoulder A holdin py his beard, He tantz de Cancan, sacrament! Dill all das Volk vas skeered. Like a roarin hippopatamos, Mit a kangarunic shoomp, Dey feared he'd smash de Catacombs, Each dime der Breitmann bump. De pretty liddle cocodettes Lofe efery dings ish new, 'D'ou vient il donc ce grand M'sieu? O sacr' nom de Dieu!' In fain dey kicks deir veet on high, And sky like vlyin geese, Dey can not kick de hat afay From Breitmann in Paris. O vhere vas id der Breitmann life? Oopon de Rond Point gay, Vot shdreet lie shoost pehind his house? La rue de Rabelais. Aroundt de corner Harper's shtands Vhere Yankee drinks dey mill, Vhile shdraight ahet, agross de shdreet, Der lies de Bal Mabille. Id's all along de Elys'es, Id's oop de Boulevarce, He's sampled all de weinshops, Und he's vinked at efery garce. Dou schveet plack-silken Gabrielle, O let me learn from dee, If 'tis in lofe or absinthe drunks, Dat dis wild ghost may pe? Und dou may'st kneel in Notre Dame, Und veep away dy sin, Vhile I go vight at Barriere balls, Oontil mine poots cave in; Boot if ve pray, or if ve sin Vhile nodings ish refuse, Tis all de same in Paris here, So long ash l'on s'amuse. O life, mein dear, at pest or vorst, Ish boot a vancy ball, Its cratest shoy a vild gallop, Vhere madness goferns all. Und should dey toorn ids gas-light off, Und nefer leafe a shbark, Sdill I'd find my vay to Heafen or Dy lips, lofe, in de dark. O crown your het mit roses, lofe! O keep a liddel sprung! Oonendless wisdom ish but dis: To go it vhile you're yung! Und Age vas nefer coom to him, To him Spring plooms afresh, Who finds a livin' spirit in Der Teufel und der Flesh.