The Führer’s Mother

(With the cover photo )

I’ve asked myself,
What kind of woman was she,
Who once gave birth to the Führer,
She must have been a hell’s broomstick

Certainly, she was a devilish woman,
A horribly eerie dragon,
Satan crawled out of her womb
With a terrible noise

The sky turned yellow and green,
There was thunder and lightning,
And afterwards, one saw Adolf boldly
Sitting as a new citizen of the world.

That‘s how I would imagine it
If I were Germanic and mystical,
But I see the figure of the woman
More as a plebeian shrew

I see her as a market woman,
With eggs, cheese, milk, and butter,
She stood at the market square in Braunau,
And Adolf learned from his mother

The well-known market clamor
With which one seeks to attract customers,
Young Adolf stood there,
The mother screamed, no eye remained dry,

And everyone bought something from her,
Either butter or eggs,
The mother screamed: Buy here, buy here,
Here, it is good and not expensive at all

And even if the eggs were rotten,
And the butter often rancid,
She managed it with her mouth,
And many customers were found.

Hitler’s mothers’ customer base
Was quite large and constantly growing,
She made everyone believe something,
And Adolf was enthusiastic.

And if the mother stayed at home,
If she was sick and couldn‘t go to the market,
Then she sent Adolf out
To sell her goods!

And Adolf did exactly
What his cunning mother did,
The very eloquent peddler,
And he also sold butter.

That went well for a while,
But eventually, some customers noticed
The deception, and they became angry,
The butter business went to the dogs

And whether she called or screamed:
Come here and buy, people!
You won‘t get anything as good as this!
They were cured, and she went bankrupt.

Adolf went into politics
With his mother‘s market methods,
He had some luck for a while,
And managed it even without butter.

He had a customer base
Of countless millions,
And he deceived them all:
Come here! The effort will be worthwhile.

I bring you true salvation,
The philosopher‘s stone has been found,
And Germany walked on the leash of fools,
And Adolf always attracted new customers.

The unwashed lying mouth
He inherited it from his mother,
In his state, everything is rotten,
And there isn‘t even rancid butter.

Although he still stands on his square,
And shouts and screams himself hoarse,
He still shouts the same sentence,
But it sounds considerably quieter.

Many think: Leave me alone,
And have long turned their backs on Adolf,
They call: Close up your shop at last,
You can no longer enravish us.

Whether he pleads, whether he screams
That with him everything is going great,
Sometimes, deception takes you far,
But finally, he‘ll end up like his mother.