In a noxious county,
a province, vile, malicious,
What a lad could ever grip? -
Thorns and burrs, all vicious.

All his fortunes, all his luck, all his luck,
went away in fritters,
And the grief he always plucks
cannot be more bitter.

Drink your moonshine, swill your fill.
While it is free, don’t doubt,
Though your rope is twining still,
it will twine into a knout!

Carry swags, you underdogs,
driven by winds blowing,
From one’s grasps the life escapes,
like a fine powder flowing.

Those who followed evil ways, crooked ways -
for whatever reasons,
Stormy winds have dragged away
straight into the prisons.

Here no mercy one expects, -
grind you teeth and suffer,
Though your rope is twining yet,
the lash will be much tougher!

I have prowled these hills and slopes,
feeling no reluctance,
‘ve seen the gallows and slimy ropes, -
these were in abundance,

‘ve seen the corpses’ naked heels
gnawed by ghouls and devils,
Ugly, wretched, bloody deals! -
no survival ever!

Never howl, it is unholy -
th’ laughter ‘s still the best resort!
Though your rope is twining slowly,
in the end they ‘ll cut it short!

Thoughts are in a painful mess,
the carpenters‘re hard driven,
To attend the midnight mass -
no time to you is given.

Don’t feel sorry, have no grief, have no hope!
You are in a stymie,
Nary a knot ‘s to spoil your rope,
all is smooth and slimy.

Warm yourself, relax unwinding!
Halters never offer a truce!
Though your rope so far is twining,
It will twine into a noose!