I am the son of Adolf Hitler My father was a monster, and my mother... oh my poor mother! Sometimes it's hard, sometimes it's heavy to carry But every son of should join their hands and tell the good people: "We're not sons of, we're not sons of... We are freaks." I'm walking in the streets through your screaming, through your spit And here are your wives saying: "Look at his eyes, he must be the devil inside... The texture of his hair, the rictus on his face: yes he's the son of Adolf Hitler!" Sometimes it's hard, sometimes it's heavy to carry But every son of should join their hands and tell the good people: "We're not sons of, we're not sons of..." That's what the people of this town want you to know: "If your blood is polluted, if you're in any need of aid... You should be better off dead!"