Pirate Jenny Songtext
von Kurt Weill

Gentlemen, you now see me rinsing your glasses,
And I′ll make a fresh bed up for you,
And you'll tip me a few pennies, and I′ll thank you very well,
And you see me dressed in tatters, in this tatty old hotel,
And you cannot tell who stands before you.
And you cannot tell who stands before you.
But one of these evenings there'll be shrieks in the harbor,
And they'll ask: Who the hell would shriek like that?
And they′ll see me give a smile across my glasses,
And they′ll say: What's she got to smile about?
And a ship with eight sails
And its fifty guns loaded
Will tie up at dusk.


They say: Get on with your glasses, my dear,
As they fish out a penny for me.
And their penny is accepted and their bed is tucked up tight,
Although nobody will get much chance of sleeping tonight.
And they still can′t tell who I might be.
And they still can't tell who I might be.
But one of these evenings there′ll be explosions in the harbor,
And they'll ask what′s that bloody awful din?
And they'll see me as I gaze out of the window,
And they'll say: What′s caused that vicious grin?
And the ship with eight sails
And its fifty guns loaded
Will lay siege to the town.

Gentlemen, you′ll find that your laughs are cut short,
For the walls will be knocked down flat,
And the town will be quickly razed to the ground.
Just one tatty old hotel will be left standing safe and sound.
And they'll ask: Does someone special live in that?
And they′ll ask: Does someone special live in that?
Then there'll be a lot of people milling round the hotel,
Asking what made them leave the place alone.
And they′ll see me leave the building the next morning,
And they'll say: Don′t tell us she's the one.
And the ship with eight sails
And its fifty guns loaded
Will run up its flag.


And a hundred men will land in the bright noonday sun,
Each treading where the shadows cloak him.
They'll look inside each doorway and seize anyone they see,
And throw him in irons and present him to me,
And say: Give us the word, and we′ll croak him.
And say: Give us the word, and we′ll croak him.
In that noonday heat there'll be a hush ′round the harbor,
As they ask which I want to die.
And then they'll hear me quietly answer: the lot!
And as the first head rolls I′ll say: Hop-La!
And the ship with eight sails
And its fifty guns loaded
Will sail off with me.