Sunday on the meadow
The geese are keeping a good watch on their lies
Here Jacob comes running
His sickle in his hand
He pushes it every now and then
The little girl under her skirt and bodice
He wants to taste her, wants to force her
And the boy will sing to it
Love, let the geese go
I want some of yours try the skin
The scythe is rusty with blood
Aren't you kind to me
Jakob can lick the little lady
And it will taste like a pear
Small little hairs up
Hurry to the wheat field
Well hidden in the flood of gold
Has he set the lie on fire
Holds her tightly wrapped around her until the evening
And sang to the child
Love reads, let the geese
I want to taste your skin
The scythe is rusty with blood
Aren't you kind to me
Love reads, leave the geese
I want to taste your skin
The scythe is rusty with blood
Aren't you kind to me

SUBMIT CORRECTIONS