As the Partisan Piper plays his pipe, go dance his dance of scorn and gripe.

Or stand on the bottom of the moon and see the bog of listless misèry.

The Partisan Piper seeks your name, he’ll gladly offer wealth and fame;

What do you seek, what do you want? The Piper’s bribes are none to taunt!

He’ll robe you as a noble king, while makes you polish his private thing.

You’ll hardly know you’re being used when to the Piper’s soul you’re fused.

In the bowels of Piper’s galley, you’ll row his oars and run his alley.

Down in the darkest depths you’ll long – but you’ve forgot its not your song!

At the Piper’s beck and call – he’ll have your soul, he’ll have your all.

Now pay your fare you worthless slugs, for you’ve become the Piper’s thugs.

All the while you were his slave, a desperate, sinking, scornful knave.

His is not the song I’ll sing; let not the praise of Piper ring!

Dear friend, alas! the moon’s above, you can’t like it look down in love!

You are in the Piper’s galley for you’re on earth right in his alley.

He’s taught you hate, he’s taught you scorn even from the day you’re born.

Alas for us the Piper reigns! For love of him are ceaseless pains.

Friend, my friend, come take my hand, let us flee his forsaken land!

Be not deceived and in he dark, my voice alone a noble lark.

Slay the Piper, free mankind that since the first in sin are bind.