Germany

The German is a stolid soul, And finds best suited to his taste A pipe with an enormous bowl, A fraulein with an ample waist; He loves his beer, his Kaiser, and (Donner und blitz!) his Fatherland!

He's perfectly contented if He listens in the Op'ra-house To Wagner's well-concealed 'motif,' Or waltzes of the nimble Strauss; And all discordant bands he sends Abroad, to soothe his foreign friends.

When he is glad at anything He cheers like a dyspeptic goat, 'Hoch! hoch!' You'd think him suffering From some affection of the throat. A disagreeable noise, 'tis true, But pleases him and don't hurt you!