Die kleine Kneipe English translation
von Peter Alexander

The evening descends on the rooftops of the suburb
The children in the yard must go home.
The grocer's wife sweeps the pavement in front of the shop
Her husband brings the fruit crates inside.
The day is over
The people are tired
But many don't go straight home
Because over there, from an open door
Music spills out onto the sidewalk.

The little pub in our street
Where life is still worth living
There in the pub in our street
Nobody asks you what you have or who you are.
The postcards on the wall in the corner
The photo of the football club
The hum of voices
The music from the jukebox
All of that is a piece of home.


You throw a mark into the coin-operated machine
Watch others play cards
And stand with a pilsner in your hand at the bar
And you're immediately on a first-name basis with everyone.

The little pub in our street
Where life is still worth living
There in the pub in our street
Nobody asks you what you have or who you are.
You get heated talking and pour out your soul
About what spoils your mood.
With schnapps and beer, some find the solution
To all the world's problems.

If you're hungry
You order sausages with kraut
Because there are no other dishes.
The bill
Is written on the beer mat
But everyone has credit with the landlord here.


The little pub in our street
Where life is still worth living
There in the pub in our street
Nobody asks you what you have or who you are.
The little pub in our street
Where life is still worth living
There in the pub in our street
Nobody asks you what you have or who you are.