My neighbour’s throwing a big bash;
His guests are never short of cash;
His wife moves quicker than a flash -
She’s got a lot on.
Down in the cellar she’s unlocked
Her stores and comes back up well stocked;
Meanwhile the stove remains unblocked
From top to bottom.

But round at mine, I’ve never-ending sorrows;
My harvests always fail, my livestock dies;
My stove breathes smoke as something’s blocked the air flow;
Or else my jaw starts swelling on one side.

My neighbours’ soup has meaty bits;
The village hears them eating it;
Their daughter’s broken out in zits -
She can be wed soon.
They’re entertaining so that she
Can meet her weedy groom-to-be,
Who sings and dances like a flea -
It’s cost a fortune!

But round at mine, my guard dogs have gone funny;
Their barking turned to howling at the moon.
The blisters on my feet burst and went runny
From constant tramping through my empty room.

My neighbour’s bottles disappear,
But why not drink it while it’s here?
And why not sing while there’s good cheer
And it’s all scot free?
At mine, the wife’s knocked up again,
My goose flock never gets its grain;
It’s not the geese, though, that’s a pain -
Everything bugs me.

And round at mine, I’ve roaches on the walls now;
They’re back whether I poison them or what -
It’s ploughing time but I can’t move at all now;
A boil’s appeared in such a nasty spot.

My neighbour sent his little one
So I’d be there to eat his crumbs;
Of course I said I wouldn’t come
But he insisted.
He must have had a flask or two
To be in such a generous mood;
I went and drank and ate his food -
The gloom’s not lifted.

And in the midst of all this celebration
I whispered something in the bridegroom’s ear;
He left without a moment’s hesitation;
The bride sobs in her room for all to hear.

My neighbour yelled: "It’s my diktat -
For I’m the proletariat -
If you don’t eat you don’t drink jack!",
And downed his own jar.
At that the guests jumped to their feet
But then the kid began to speak:
"It’s “If you don’t work you don’t eat” -
You got it wrong, Pa!"

I sat and clutched a note that could be cleaner -
Three roubles that I’d need for drink next day -
My arms around my shabby concertina;
They only got me here so I could play.

My neighbour sunk another flask
And bit by bit became a shark;
"Why don’t you sing to us?" he barked;
"You drank your fill, you!"
Then I was grabbed on either side
By two enormous ugly guys:
"Play, bastard, sing to us", they cried,
"Before we kill you!"

The drunken shindig reached its wildest phase then
And in the dark they groped and kissed the bride;
And I sang songs about the good old days when
I drove a mail coach through the countryside.

They next served soup with fish to sup
And meat in aspic by the tub,
Then caught the groom and beat him up
Till he was reeling.
They started dancing in the barn,
Then fought but didn’t mean much harm
And killed off any trace of charm
Or finer feeling.

And in my corner I groaned like a bittern
And wondered who I’d tipple with next day
From all the drunks with whom I then was sitting;
My hands were on my haunches as I brayed.

It’s always calm the following day,
There’s plenty left for those who stay
To chase the hangover away;
There’s piles of food there.
And no one ever stamps or bawls;
The little dog stays in the hall;
The stove works well, ash-pan and all,
With tiles of blue there.

But round at mine in perfect sunny weather
My gullet burns and in my heart there’s rain.
I drink well water putting back together
My concertina while the wife complains.