Hans Breitmann as an administrator

Hans Breitmann vent to India—
   Dere vasn't no demonsdration—
He bummed along in a B and O 
   To look at de Aryan nation;
But Himmel's face had a shiny smile 
   As if it knowed de thing,
Und liddle shtars coom out und vinked 
   At Breitmann on de ving.

Hans Breitmann went to India— 
   Dey drop him at Bombay—
He hoonted aroun' for de Gofernor, 
   On top of a buggy—shay.
'Darwaza bund', de porter said—
   Der Breitmann speak him fair:—
'Dere vasn't any sooch a man,
   Und if dere vas I'm dere!

I seek a shenuine Deutscher, 
   Dey say he runs dis show,
Und arguin' on a door-mat
   Is dwice so mean ash slow—
Derefore!' He shvore ein juron
   De liddlest dot he knew—
De porter faint mit horror und
   De Breitmann pass through.

He found de crate Herr Gofernor
   In bens and ink geshpilt
Wrop up in adminisdration—
   Likevise in a plazin' kilt.
'Die Färb' sind mir nicht unbekannt— 
   But I guess de green haf ran
Into die red und vhite und plue, 
   Remark de Breitmann.

Dey sat him down on a sofa, 
   Dey gafe him a long cigar,
Vhile de Gofernor dell of troubles 
   Mit bapers in Kathiawar—
Und vhen he haf grasp de inwardness 
   Und lighted another schmoke,
Mit his feet on de fop of de dable 
   'Tvas so de Breitmann shboke:—

'Now bist du Scotch or Deutscher 
   Or bist du both—in shpots,
It's bedder to vork on a brinciple 
   Vhich I'll pring down to dots:
For de more dot brinciple's acted on 
   Und trifen home to de heft,
De less vill you be hong up to dry,
   Und de less vill you get left.

Dere's a certain sort of cussin' 
   Dot bolidicks mostly breeds—
Slanganderin' men by nations
   And drowin' mud on deir creeds;
But dot's legitimate pizness
   For, since de world pegan,
Lager, de girls and de gali
   Ish more dan meat to a man.

He'll shvear at de Pope und Kaiser 
   He'll shvear at his frau, by shings!
Und ven his frau shvears back at him, 
   He'll shvear at afery dings!
Und 'lowin' for human nadure
   De notion's safe und sound,
So long as de man mit grievance 
   Joost sloshes his shvearin' around.

But vhen subjectif cussin' 
   Tevelops a tefinite line
Und begomes objectif libel,
   Fidelicit:—"Schmitt is a schwein!"
De Schmitt dot is called a schwein-pick,
   Howefer his bolidicks lean,
Vill call on de Herr Redakteur'  
   Und say:—"Vot Hell you mean ?"

Nun! Oonder your vay of pizness— 
   I put de matter in prief—
A snigglin', snoopin' schwein–blatt 
   Have called your servant a  thief;
Und when you asked for de proofments
   Und found dot dere vasn 't none,
Insdeat of bustin' de druckerei  
   You leaf dat schwein–blatt alone.'

De Gofernor look at de ceilin'— 
   De Gofernor look on de floor,
He never vas so behondelt 
   By voman or man pefore.
'Now dere was a custom in Kansas'— 
   Hans schmile a derrible schmile—
'For sublimatin' de kultur 
   Und puttin' a gloss on de style.

Ve passed a simple rulin' 
   To raise de tone of de blace,
Und nailed a gratis copy 
   To every forme und case:— 
"De man dot publishes ardicles  
   Peyont his politishescope
De Viligance Committee 
   Sub-edits ... mit a rope!"

Und dot vas in "bleedin' Kansas",'  
   Vhere men are ge–built in de raw—
Und foorst dey empty deir bistol 
   Und den enquire de Law;
But no one was called a horse–thief  
   Mitout a mountain of proof,
For de only case of libel 
   Ve hanged from his office roof.

Gut! Toornin' again to your trouble,  
   Vhich you have so mooch bemessed
De man dot vas tarred in de paper  
   Haf folded his vings in de West'
Und, since dot paper haf shwallowed  
   Its statement hump and paw,
Onless you vass heeled und ready, 
   Vhy Devil und all did you draw.

Potzblitz!  and dou art a Deutscher!  
   Herr Gott!  and a Baron too!
Mit a lien on de Sherman nation  
   Vhich makes it Reayson–de–blu
Dot you shouldn't be so spread–eagled  
   Und hung by der heels to bleed,
But I guess I haf taught you somedings.'  

              *               *               *
 
   Here endet de Breitmannleid.