Anarchistic Garret
 In an anarchistic garret, so meagre and so mean,
 Smell the pungent odor of nitro-glycerine.
 They're busy making fuzes and filling cans with nails, 
 And the little Slavic children set up this mournful wail.
It's Sister Jenny's turn to throw the bomb.
The last one it was thrown by Brother Tom.
 Mother's aim is bad, and the Trotskyites got dad,
So it's Sister Jenny's turn to throw the bomb.
 Sister Jenny took the bomb and ankled off,
 And mother said, "Now take care, and blow up Templehof." 
And as the party waited, as the night turned into day, 
 And the little Slavic children set up this mournful lay.
Is Brother Ivanovitch's turn to throw the bomb.
Sister Jenny's gone the way of Brother Tom.
Mother's aim is still bad, and the Trotskyites got dad, 
So it's Brother Ivanovitch's turn to throw the bomb.
  I'd like to say a word for Nero,