At Sunday in the meadow by the Ammer
Liese tends the geese dutifully
Here approaches Jacob quickly
Holds a sickle in his hand

This one he moves from time to time
Under Liese's skirt and bodice
He wants to tase her, wants to force her
And the boy will sing along to it

Dear Liese, forget the geese
I want to taste of your skin
The sickle is rusty of the blood
Are you not friendly to me

Jacob is allowed to lick Lieschen
And she's gonna taste like a pear
Small hairs raised
They are rushing to the wheatfield

Well hidden in the flood of gold
He plugged in into the Liese
Holds her tight until the eveing
And had sung into the child

Dear Liese, forget the geese
I want to taste of your skin
The sickle is rusty of the blood
Are you not friendly to me

Dear Liese, forget the geese
I want to taste of your skin
The sickle is rusty of the blood
Are you not friendly to me