Tiny, little Cinnamon Jew!
How funny looking he walks about!
Strings hanging out, bric-à-brac hanging out,
Hawking poor folk’s finds on the tout!

      Isaac, is the ship here yet?
      And my saber? It’s in your bag I bet.
      Am I getting a wagon? A doll for me?
      And that hat with feathers on top for Marie?

      “Not yet, kinder. Geyt avek! Let go of me!
      Dey’ll all be here next year maybe.
      De vater turned tick, de voyage a crawl.
      You must now vait till dere is a vindfall.”

Tiny, little Cinnamon Jew!
How jolly he looks, so funny too,
So destitute and so frozen and all!
All the time that talk about some windfall!

      Abraham, where will I find thee?
      Father Abraham, oh, dost thou not see?
      O Mourning Tree of Babylon,
      Where is the wise man Solomon?