Frau Lange

There, on the street, a hat is bobbing
The hat, it bobs very resolutely
Because under this hat is Mrs. Lange
She is very tall and quite thin
And some don't look properly
And call out confusedly: 'Do you see the hat there on the pole?'

Mrs. Lange is the good spirit
In our house, and she runs
The shop right and wrong and always with calm
She doesn't do much, but what she does
She doesn't do without her hat
She never takes off the thing, and that makes me angry

I feel threatened by the hat
Although it's green, I see red
Because over time, I almost burst with curiosity
What's the point of the hat
Is her lunch in it?
Is it a fetish or does she just have a bald head?

It never hangs on the coat rack
Maybe it's a small transmitter
And we're simply being spied on by her
I'd give anything if I dared
To steal her hat
Or at least look underneath once

Mrs. Lange
Mrs. Lange
What's happening in your hat makes me anxious
Mrs. Lange
Mrs. Lange
Are you a secret keeper of the highest rank?
Is it a sect, is it a cult
Is it maybe an old debt
That you have to atone for by wearing this monstrosity?

But when I asked: 'Are you a Quaker?'
Mrs. Lange exclaimed: 'Oh, you joker
You'd like to know that, wouldn't you?' and she grins
And boldly tells me to my face:
'I won't be interrogated
After all, I'm not in public service!'

When she starts her service with us
She brings her tools with her
For example, the popular homemade rags
They are quickly made, for little money
From old underpants
Even Goethe said: 'My rag is my emblem!'

With this rag, she cleans
And it's always used until
Its smell hangs oppressively in every room
No nicer rag far and wide
She thinks a new one can wait
And yet she knows every piece of news

'I never gossip, you know me
But did you actually know
About this woman who always polishes the stairs here?
She also cleans on the third floor
For the landlord, that old goat
Well, and now she's already in the third month'

Mrs. Lange is quite discreet
As long as everything is open
But there's a little lock on our chest
And she can't open it
In desperation, she bites on it
Unfortunately, two incisors are lost

Mrs. Lange
Mrs. Lange
If it doesn't work with the mouth, then take a pair of pliers
Mrs. Lange
Mrs. Lange
People line up for your news
They always want to know everything
From the standpoint of the hat

Do I really have to poison you first
To lift your hat
And look inside?
I believe, if it ever works
I'll find the new rag in there
Oh, Mrs. Lange, that would be wonderful