Текст и перевод песни BAP - Dä letzte Winter em letzte Kreech

Dä letzte Winter em letzte Kreech

Et wohr dä letzte Winter em letzte Kreech,
Do maaten se sich met 'nem Leiderwaare op dä Wääsch:
Russ uss dä Jeisterstadt, russ uss däm Trömmerfeld,
"Wo jede Naach et Höllefüer uss 'äm Himmel fällt."

Die Entourage uss Fraue, Kinder un 'nem ahle Hehr
Met singem jüngste Sohn em Rollstohl immer hingerher,
Kohm ahn 'nem Mettwochohvend noh 'ner Odysee
Em Nirjendwo bei Gera ahn, et feel dä eezte Schnie.
Zwei Persilkartons, sechs Koffer, jeder 'n Deck,
Pott un Pann, en Fläsch Schabau
Un – mer weiß jo nie – et silverne Besteck,
Enn 'nem Klüttesack verstaut.

Nä, he die Jäjend hatt sich keiner ussjesöök,
Evakuiert wood mer heher, enn Hüüser rinnjesteck
Zo Lück, die selver kaum jet hatte, wat mer deile kunnt.
Et einzig Positive wohr, dat nix enn Flamme stundt.

Zo övverlevve vun däm, wat mer op sing Marke kräät,
Wohr illusorisch, un wemmer nit maggle däät,
Dann wood mer krank, et joov nur Kappeszupp
Un, wemmer Jlöck hatt, aff un zo e' Stöckche Brut.
Eines Ohvends hätt dä Ahl sich hinjesetz
Met 'ner Laubsääsch un 'nem Brett,
Vüürjezeichnet un bess spät nahx ussjesääsch
Drei Könije für en Kripp.

Un enn dä nähxte Naach, do kohm noch mieh dozo:
Maria, Josef un dä Klein, ne Esel un en Koh,
'Ne Engel un 'ne Hirte un e' jääl Kamel
Un dä Stään, dä övver Bethlehem vum Himmel feel.

Vun do ahn hätt e' wie besesse produziert,
Dat Sperrholz hatt sing Frau orjanisiert.
Sing Enkeldöchter jinge dann domet vun Düür zo Düür
Un krääte he un do sujar e' Döppe Schmalz dofür.
Un dä ahle Hehr wohr stolz wie sibbe Mann,
Wenn om Desch en Mohlzick stundt:
"Ess dat all vun däm, wat ich jearbeit hann?" –
Vun däm einz'je, wat e' kunnt.

"Ävver secher", saat dodrop et Käthi sanft,
"Wat meinste, Opa, wat se sich dodröm jerisse hann?!"
Ihr Mutter un ihr Tante hann nur jnädig fottjeluhrt,
Duutmööd vun ihrer Maggeltour,

Op der se Silverlöffel jäje Botter enjetuhsch
Un selvsjestrickte Socke jäje Speck un Woosch,
'Ne Büggel Muckefuck, 'ne Liter suhre Wing
Un e' Schooffell jäje Opas Röggeping.
Hermann Platz, wenn ich dich ens em Himmel treff,
Drink mer eine op ding Schöss:
Oma, Netta, Ännie, Margret un dä Ress,
Ohne die't uns Kripp nit jööv

Un su manch andres och nit, dat steht fess –
Huh die Jläser, op ding Schöss!

The Last Winter in the Last War

It was the last winter in the last war,
When they made their way with a funeral cart on the road:
Russians from the ghost town, Russians from the field of ruins,
"Where every night the hellfire falls from heaven."

The entourage of women, children and an old man
With his youngest son in a wheelchair, always following behind,
Arrived on a Wednesday evening after an odyssey
In the middle of nowhere near Gera, the first snow falls.
Two cardboard boxes, six suitcases, each a blanket,
Pots and pans, a bottle of schnapps,
And - you never know - the silver cutlery,
Stowed in a cloth sack.

No, they didn't choose this place,
They were evacuated here, stuck in houses,
With people who themselves had hardly anything to share.
The only positive thing was that nothing was on fire.

To survive on what you could get on your ration card
Was illusory, and if you didn't steal,
Then you would get sick, there was only cabbage soup
And, if you were lucky, a piece of bread now and then.
One evening the old man sat down
With a fretsaw and a board
Pre-drawn and then sawed out late at night
Three kings for a nativity scene.

And the next night, there was more to it:
Maria, Joseph and the little one, a donkey and a cow,
An angel and a shepherd and a yellow camel
And the star that fell from heaven over Bethlehem.

From then on he produced as if possessed,
His wife organized the plywood.
His granddaughters then went with it from door to door
And sometimes even got a tub of lard for it.
And the old man was proud as seven men,
When there was a meal on the table:
"Is it all from what I have worked?" -
Of the only thing he could do.

"But of course," Käthi said gently,
"What do you think they were fighting over?"!
Her mother and her aunt just looked away graciously,
Sullen from their begging tour,

Where they exchanged silver spoons for butter
And self-knitted socks for bacon and sausage,
A jar of coffee, a liter of clean wine
And a shovel against Opa's back pain.
Hermann Platz, if I ever meet you in heaven again,
Have a drink with me on your lap:
Oma, Netta, Ännie, Margret and the rest,
Without whom our nativity scene would not exist,

And many other things besides, that's for sure -
Raise your glasses, on your lap!