Mack the Knife

Oh, the shark has pretty teeth, dear
And he shows them pearly white.
Just a jack knife has Macheath, dear
And he keeps it out of sight.

When the shark bites with his teeth, dear
Scarlet billows start to spread.
Fancy gloves, though, wears Macheath, dear
So there's not a trace of red.

On the side-walk Sunday morning
Lies a body oozing life;
Someone's sneaking 'round the corner.
Is that someone Mack the Knife?

From a tugboat by the river
A cement bag's dropping down;
The cement's just for the weight, dear.
Bet you Mackie's back in town.

Louie Miller disappeared, dear
After drawing out his cash;
And Macheath spends like a sailor.
Did our boy do something rash?

Sukey Tawdry, Jenny Diver,
Polly Peachum, Lucy Brown
Oh, the line forms on the right, dear
Now that Mackie's back in town.

Bertolt Brecht

Eugen Berthold Friedrich Brecht, known professionally as Bertolt Brecht, was a German playwright, poet, and theatre director of the 20th century. He established himself as a prominent literary figure by pioneering epic theatre, which aimed to provoke rational thought and social change in contrast to traditional forms of theatre. Brecht's notable works include "Mother Courage and Her Children" and "The Threepenny Opera."

Bertolt Brecht

A Worker Reads History

Bertolt Brecht, Simple Poetry

To Read In The Morning And At Night...

Bertolt Brecht, Simple Poetry

What Has Happened?

Bertolt Brecht, Simple Poetry

English

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The Legend Of Hamilton Tighe

The Captain is walking his quarter-deck,
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The other turns up to the truck on the mast;
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The Captain again the letter hath read
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Still, since the good ship sail'd away,
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As his own cockade in his own cock'd hat:
He reads, and he says, as he walks to and fro,
'Curse the old womanshe bothers me so!'

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The Whistle of Sandy McGraw

You may talk o' your lutes and your dulcimers fine,
Your harps and your tabors and cymbals and a',
But here in the trenches jist gie me for mine
The wee penny whistle o' Sandy McGraw.
Oh, it's: "Sandy, ma lad, will you lilt us a tune?"
And Sandy is willin' and trillin' like mad;
Sae silvery sweet that we a' throng aroun',
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Jist the wee simple airs that sink intae your hert,
And grup ye wi' love and wi' longin' for hame;
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O' a tear, and you blink wi' a feelin' o' shame.
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Gangland

    A sailor, "tatoo you,"
    the cigarette Players
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    a jaundiced "Yellow Bird",
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    Trolling in a deep sea-trench
    (spinners and chubb),
    the dark night
    a religious procession,
    acolyte stars in hymnal to the wind.

    Across the channel
    a Party Boat
    - the words almost demand capitals
    with actions so diminutive -
    creased laughter "to go" cross the waves
    flicker of lights, siren call
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    on anchor reel, Horse-Eyed Jack
    perhaps borrowing the name
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The "Mary Gloster"

I've paid for your sickest fancies; I've humoured your crackedest whim,
Dick, it's your daddy, dying; you've got to listen to him!
Good for a fortnight, am I? The doctor told you? He lied.
I shall go under by morning, and, Put that nurse outside.
'Never seen death yet, Dickie? Well, now is your time to learn,
And you'll wish you held my record before it comes to your turn.
Not counting the Line and the Foundry, the yards and the village, too,
I've made myself and a million; but I'm damned if I made you.
Master at two-and-twenty, and married at twenty-three,
Ten thousand men on the pay-roll, and forty freighters at seal
Fifty years between'em, and every year of it fight,
And now I'm Sir Anthony Gloster, dying, a baronite:
For I lunched with his Royal 'Ighness, what was it the pape...

Rudyard

The Mary Gloster

I've paid for your sickest fancies; I've humoured your crackedest whim,
Dick, it's your daddy, dying; you've got to listen to him!
Good for a fortnight, am I? The doctor told you? He lied.
I shall go under by morning, and, Put that nurse outside.
'Never seen death yet, Dickie? Well, now is your time to learn,
And you'll wish you held my record before it comes to your turn.
Not counting the Line and the Foundry, the yards and the village, too,
I've made myself and a million; but I'm damned if I made you.
Master at two-and-twenty, and married at twenty-three,
Ten thousand men on the pay-roll, and forty freighters at sea!
Fifty years between 'em, and every year of it fight,
And now I'm Sir Anthony Gloster, dying, a baronite:
For I lunched with his Royal 'Ighness, what was it the pap...

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The Shooting Of Dan Mcgrew

A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute saloon;
The kid that handles the music-box was hitting a jag-time tune;
Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew,
And watching his luck was his light-o'-love, the lady that's known as Lou.

When out of the night, which was fifty below, and into the din and the glare,
There stumbled a miner fresh from the creeks, dog-dirty and loaded for bear.
He looked like a man with a foot in the grave, and scarcely the strength of a louse,
Yet he tilted a poke of dust on the bar, and he called for drinks for the house.
There was none could place the stranger's face, though we searched ourselves for a clue;
But we drank his health, and the last to drink was Dangerous Dan McGrew.

There's men that somehow just grip your eye...

Robert William Service