The Blowgunby Wilhelm Busch
His tea, in which a crust he's dipping.
Hits Bartelmann upon the ear.
From under here it sure must be,
And dips his pretzel in his tea.
Old Bartelmann of fright's near dying.
Which made it sorely ache and smart.
Down cheeks of old Bartelmann.
From up above it sure must be!
Franz hits his nose in greatest flurry.
Behind the fence the rascal's caught.
An old acquaintance greets his eyes.
To drive the popgun down Frank's throat!
On older folks play no more tricks!
Versions --> German
Info --> Source - Encoding - Links
© 1994-1999 Robert Godwin-Jones
Virginia Commonwealth University