Ze Zijn Nog Niet Vergeten (deel 2)

I can't forget them, the songs of yesteryear
They're not worn out yet, here we go again

Who put soap in the plum porridge
All plums are foaming
Who put soap in the plum porridge
Every plum is in the foam
I tasted it but it's unhealthy
You already have foam on your mouth
Who put soap in the plum porridge
Every plum is in the foam

Five days to Paris
We'll be spinning, having a blast
Five days to Paris
We'll go with a cheerful face
With the whole gang
Having a blast in Paris

Oh sabberiosia
Sabbere he he he holadijo
Oh sabberiosia
Sabbere he he he holadijo
Crate of bananas
Oh sabberiosia
Sabbere he he he holadijo
Oh sabberiosia
Sabbere he he he holadijo

Father why do giraffes
Have such a long neck
Sweetheart, ask your mother
She'll tell you right away
If your father had a neck like that, he'd be happy
Because his drink would slide down longer
When the rich and the poor
Watch the monkeys at Artis
We're all as happy as proud father
We see his likeness on the monkey rock
Then we share monkey nuts
It's a party for young and old
Because in September, for a dime
You have to be in our Amsterdam Artis

If the Jordaan with its old Westertoren
Would be in Antwerp
Then I would have been born Belgian
Then I wouldn't sing 'hatsjee' in my Jordaan dialect
But 'ziede gij me gerne' in the most beautiful Flemish
That's how it would have been
If the Jordaan would be in the Scheldestad

I can't forget them, the songs of yesteryear
They're not worn out yet, here we go again

In our Jordaan
You sing 'hela hola holadijee'
In our Jordaan
You see the boys and girls dancing
In our Jordaan
Where the flowers are in the windows
And the Amsterdam humor is never lost
As long as the spoon is in the porridge pot