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אַװרײמל דער מאַרװיכער

Mordkhe Gebirtig [Mordechai Gebirtig] / מרדכי געבירטיג
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La versione in inglese e yiddish di Daniel Kahn and the Painted...
AVREML THE SWINDLERAVREML THE FILCHER
AVREML DER MARVIKHER
In my youth I had no home to live in,
On the street I was harassed and dr iven,
In all that t ime no kind word came my way.
On my own with no mother's car ing,
Among strangers, schooled in gr ime
I became a very winning guy
On a heym bin ikh yung geblibn
s’hot di noyt mikh aroys getribn
ven ikh hob keyn draytsn yor gehat
in der fremd, vayt fun mames oygn
s’hot in shmuts mikh di gas dertsoygn
gevorn iz fun mir a voyler yat
I am Avreml , they call me the swindler,
In wheeling and dealing I'm always the winner,
From the very first unt il the day I drop dead,
I'm on a treadmill in pursuit of bread, oy, oy,
I don't hang out in the "market ; with the fellows,
No, I lie in wait , the filthy rich to collar,
My greatest joy is to make off with their dollars,
I am Avreml , quite a winning-guy.
Kh’bin Avreml der feyikster marvikher
a groyser kinstler kh’arbet laykht & zikher
dos ershte mol kh’vel s’gedenken bizn toyt
arayn in tfise far lakhenen a broyt
kh’for nit af marken vi yene proste yatn
kh’tsup nor bay karge shmutsike magnatn
kh’bin zikh mekhaye ven kh’tap aza magnat
ikh bin Avreml gor a voyler yat
In strangers" hear t s I found no mercy,
A piece of bread somet imes a beggar would throw me,
The well-to-do whose future was all set
Would turn their backs and toss their heads in scorn:
"Go steal your food, to thievery you were born"
A thief I have been, such a winning chap.
On the street, hard to make a living
ya beg for bread, a poor man might be giving
but all you people sick from being fed
you’d rather turn me out & lock your doors
you scorn us all as thieves & thugs & whores
better a good crook than good & dead
I am Avreml , they call me the swindler,
In wheeling and dealing I'm always the winner,
When yet a young lad, to pr ison I was sent ,
I came out a menace with a rare talent, oy, oy,
I don't hang out in the market with the fellows,
No, I lie in wait , the filthy rich to collar.
I love gent le people, k ind glances and all that ,
I am Avreml , quite a winning guy.
Call me Avreml the finest little filcher
a master artist, you never see me pilfer
some little shit you deposited in jail
comes out a maven whose talent never fails
I ain’t some punk who steals from those who can’t afford it
I just rob the stingy filthy rich who hoard it
the rich are leeches sucking money day & night
I’m just a flea who takes a bite, ain’t I all right?
Not for long can my story go on,
Broken, ailing, from year s in pr ison,
Just one litt le hope st ill have in my hear t -
When death comes and I'm no more dr iven,
Upon my tombstone let there be wr itten
With the biggest letters made from gold:
Avreml won’t live long at all
he’s sick from the streets & prison walls
but on his gravestone etched in gold
he should have his story told
“here lies Avreml, king of the thieves
a man whom all the world should grieve
he could’ve been a purer soul
but hunger is beyond control
& he never had no ma or pa
& the streets, they have their own law
this crooked prince zol zayn gebentsht
here lies Avreml, what a mentsh.
Here lies Avreml , they call h im the swindler,
A man of renown, always a winner,
A very fine ane man, with heart , with feelings,
A pure-souled man, a lone wolf against his will , oy, oy
Who never did know a motherjs love and car ing,
Who never did choose the street for his upbringing,
Who never a child nor a father did have,
Here lies Avreml , that winning guy.
Do ligt Avreml der feyikster marvikher
a mentsh a groyser geven volt fun im zikher
a mentsh a fayner mit harts mit a gefil
a mentsh a reyner vos got aleyn nor vil
ven iber im volt gevakht a mames oygn
ven s’hot di finstere gas im nit dertsoygn
ven nokh als kind er a tatn volt gehat
do ligt Avreml, yener voyler yat.


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