Корнелий Шнапс идет по свету,
Cornelius Schnapps is roaming freely,
Сжимая крюк в кармане брюк.
He's squeezed a hook inside his pants.
Ведет его дорога в Лету,
His path is leading to oblivion,
Кругом цветет сплошной цурюк.
Around him bloom retarded plants.
Корнелий мелодично свищет
Cornelius's whistling tonal patterns,
Гармоний сложных и простых.
The complex ones and simple pop.
Он от добра добра не ищет...
He is content to go no farther...
Вот и конец пути: бултых!
And here's the end of his road: Plop!1