Nie masz cwaniaka nad warszawiaka – Stasiek Wielanek (Tekst)

Along the avenue, all spruced up,
Some guy was walking by,
A mug, well yes, could pass for fine.
Suddenly he tripped on a stone,
Roaring, “Ah! Damnation!”
“How can they even live in this province life?!”
And I almost boiled with blood,
So I sang to him, pearly loud:

Don’t be too sly, dressed up in UNRRA rags,
’Cause that for you
Could end up sad.
For a Varsovian, there’s no sly fox
Who could trick him
With smooth talk or cheap lies.

You can call me a yokel,
You can punch me in the face,
But from the capital, back off,
Or blood will be in place.
So by that token—
Don’t be a weak one,
Shut your mouth tight
And don’t you say another thing.

There was once one,
A dreadful dog to Warsaw,
He even used to say:
“Warsaw ist kaput.”
But the scoundrel made a blunder,
He got sorely disappointed,
And all his daggered effort
Was in vain pursuit.
He couldn’t even hear the way
We sing to him, to this day:

You wanted to be sly,
Combed as if neat and spry,
Now you rot, you scoundrel,
In the mud where you lie.
We Varsovians—
That’s how we’re woven,
Step on our toes,
And write yourself cold corpse.

And let everyone know,
Who dares to pull on us,
It’ll backfire on him quick,
You can bet it does.
For a Varsovian, there’s no sly fox,
If you want to start with us,
First go buy yourself a coffin box!