Oh well, I'm a weiss weis guy born in Nuernberg, schoene town,
Where pretty girls are, if you like zaftig and round
I print 'em and I paint 'em and make for myself a name,
And sometimes I engrave 'em; from Magyar my parents came.

I am Albrecht Duerer, ja, the wan Duerer,
My face ain't brown, ain't brown, ain't brown.

The Rhine flows and the Elbe and the Moselle, quite a sight;
It's Moselle's that I swirl and I'm swiggin' down tonight,
And when they ask me which one I love the best,
I tear open my shirt. . .got a Blue Nun on my chest.
'cause I'm the wein Duerer, ja, the wein Duerer;
I roll around on ground from downing rounds and rounds.

Well I drink Rhône when out of town;
I pine for Rhine; nein, kein fein there.
Nonetheless I'm lappin' it down;
I'm a two-fisted 'biber and I go for hound hair.

Ja. . .

I'm the type of guy whose outlook's kinda down,
With "Melencolia" and four horsemen who frown.
You see from self-portrait, I've got falling-down curls.
At 23 I married Agnes Frey, a pale small-town girl.
Soon I was a wander, ja, a wanderer--
I traveled down to Venice, town that sometimes drowns.

[oompah-band interlude]

Wanted to get dry, so headed to Rome town--
I got sun on my face and started turning brown
To complement my pelt, those auburn falling curls.
When I got back to the far-off Rhineland,
I surprised my girl--
"You're not the wan Duerer, nein, kein wan Duerer!"
My frowsy, frumpy frau who was thumbing "Faust" frowned.
Goethe go--wan Duerer, then I'm the wanderer:
I see her frown; it brings me down; I'm south to brown
Then I'm the tan Duerer, ja, the tan Duerer;
Mein haut is brown, is brown, is brown.