Though the clown lacks uniform,
Still he is of the party.
And he's told us naught but lies. . .
Vaterland type of regime.

Yes, he is his father' son,
And he's building his machine.
Kind of labor he likes: slave
Hear him bellow; watch him preen.

CHORUS:
We all live under a Brownshirt regime,
A Brownshirt regime, a Brownshirt regime.
We all live under a Brownshirt regime,
A Brownshirt regime, a Brownshirt regime.

For his friends, there's always more
Many on the floor at his back door
With tongues jammed up all the way.

CHORUS

His father joined the party;
Acorn doesn't fall far from the tree.
Lies that spew from scheming team
In this fellow's slut regime.

Achtung!

CHORUS