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The proud did not want to be reprimanded. Therefore, the illegal riches were soon gone. I see a volk, proud and stocky, standing haughtily. But in their fat that perish rancidly, there soon only lies a skeleton, in defeat. With the thief finished, the fool can also not understand his unexpected fall. So Raca dances in the darkness of the dark moon. Yes, around and around his fire that does not exist anymore, for a long time now. His wives weep in snot and tears.

They cry over their large numbers bred without brains. In the big famine that goes destructively across the world, there is no hope for food and no hope for grain for her multitudes. Once upon a time, seven fat cows stood up. But the sickle slashed deadly at their artery. Therefore, listen to the last death-rattle of the dying, skinny yard-cock. There where it crows for the last time, while the proud and stocky go down for ever.