In the sky between white and blue
It may be that it is biblical there
Down here the cats are gray
For those who only sleep do not eat
On clouds Harps chirp delicately
You're supposed to sing there in the morning
Spicy soup is cooking down here
And every now and then glasses clink
You'll never be robbed by the fire
Here below the devil is shoveling coal
Yes, we swore that to ourselves
We have no business in heaven
Yes, we swore that to ourselves
Because vice has chosen us
Where a merry fire roars
It's nice to settle down
Because whoever confesses makes a mess
I'd rather sing blasphemy songs
Now I'll ask you which is better
I don't think the answer is difficult
Every rooster crows about the dung
For as the Lord so his shaving