Fattig bonddräng (English translation)
I am poor peasant, but still I live,
Days come and go, while I plod on,
Harrowing, planting and plowing, mucking, digging and carrying,
Walking behind my oxen, shouting whistling and cursing.
I am poor peasant, and I chew my snuff
And when Saturday comes, I want to get a bit drunk.
Then, when I'm jocund I want to tussle and fight,
I also want to rest with a girl, of course.
Then, Sunday comes, and then our priest wants,
me to go to church, but I mostly sleep.
The priest can sleep the entirety of Monday, but
for a poor peasant the work starts over.
In that way, the whole week, all days and years go by,
I walk with my scythe, and I. plow and sow,
I drive my oxen and I dry my hay,
Harrowing, toiling and thralling, and eventually I will die.
Standing there, poor peasant by the pearly gates,
Somewhat scared and sad about the sins I've committed.
You shall not guzzle, hold girls and fight
Lord, God in Heaven, is probably disgruntled, of course.
But, then the Lord says: Poor peasant, come here,
I have seen you endeavor and your eternal drudgery,
That's why, poor peasant, you're welcome here,
That's why, poor peasant, you'll be close to me.
Oh, I, poor peasant stand so still in front of God
And then he dresses me in the most snow-white garb.
Now, the Lord says, your work is finished,
Now, poor peasant, you can rest.