Italic text is what usually gets omitted
Big Bertha's suitors
And coal diggers of Katowice
And oil drillers of Boryslav
And Lodzer Menschen, stunners.
Dandies of Warsaw, gigolos
Huddled with gang of sophisticated hussies
Rapscallions, jesters, bullies
You all kiss me in my arse
Israelite docs,
Seedlings of Vienna, the Jewish Mecca,
Who in Bochnia, Stryi and Cracow
Spread the cultural annoyment/syphilis! (Polish "franca")
Who slurp with "Neue Freie"
Your intellectual soup,
Smart asses, well-read dullards,
You all kiss me in my arse
And those Aryan appraisers,
Farts of the Germanic spirit
When I will check my blood and yours,
Believe me, there will be one gore,
Disciplined squirts and stormtroopers,
Stout-hearted fellows from Maccabi or from PLO,
And record-holders, and sportsmen,
You all kiss me in my arse
Boring and grim Socialists,
Progressive-Democrats, Neo-Catholics
Those who pretend to be people of culture,
Worshipers of radio and physics,
Learned monkeys, scient-wiseasses,
Who watch the world through a magnifier,
And know everything: what, how, when,
You all kiss me in my arse
And that beak of the girls' school,
Who would love to "do" a lot, but cannot,
And this professor Cy... from Vilnius
(You know for what, Mr professor!)
And you, not screwed enough in youth
Gorgon, who has such a nerve,
That you set your puppies on me;
You all kiss me in my arse
And those Palestinian Zionists,
Hechalutz members, who fondly pour
Their Orthodox Jewish brainless tears,
That "spruces make hum in Tel-Aviv",
And those Pan-Slavic dreamers,
Gathered in picturesque troupe,
With a random mystical fool on top,
You all kiss me in my arse
And you the whoreson of fortune,
Perfumed shithead,
Who wear the splendor and spleen of London,
On your forbidden, scary face,
And you, who now live in a mansion,
But used to go to crap behind a cottage,
You, who grew fat of cash on IDL, (Illustrated Daily Courier)
You all kiss me in my arse
And you, grouches and storytellers,
Who drag fat pension from heaven,
Oh, pallbearers of the Luminous Mount,
Holy scabs from Calvary Mountain,
And you, little priest, whose schlong,
Is tied into a knot,
So that it won't romp by chance,
You all kiss me in my arse
And you, about whom I forgot,
Or I ommited you of mercy,
Either because I was afraid,
Or, because there is so plenty of you,
And you, censor, who for this poem,
No doubt will sentence me to pokey,
And so I became the lechers' boss,
You all kiss me in my arse!"
