So Streicher Killed Your Father! How Interesting
I wonder if, by chance,
When passing by a shop in town,
I’ll meet a rabbi’s son from France
Who’ll sell his beard for half a crown.
Perhaps a Jew in all the places
Forgets the lips of those who died,
Perhaps he’d wink at shriveled faces
And flick a half-crown while he sighed.
I wonder if, by chance,
When meeting goyim in the town,
I’ll ask Miss Fortescue to dance
And she will pout, and flush—and frown.
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