Till I was seven I believed in saint Nic.
and worried about his black helper Piet, who carried a stick.

They came from Spain by boat on December six
And brought for naughty children a load of correction sticks.

And if St. Nick knew you did not behave…
His helper Piet would rant and rave.

And in his bag you could be put…
With his hands black from the chimney sooth.

But for the children that were good and made not to much noise
They brought a ship full of toys.

The horse jumped from roof to roof
While we sang and listened for the noise of a hoof.

Then Piet crawled down the chimney to have a look…
And for the horse he took…

The water and carrot we had put in a wooden shoe…
But how he carried it up …we had no clue.

But in return he left gifts and something sweet,
Something we normally did not get to eat.

The gifts were always a surprise
And you can imagine my big eyes

It is fun to remember
This day in December

But I hear Piet is on his way out…
His existence hangs in a cloud…

Soon he might not accompany St Nick,
Which makes many Dutch children sick.

I was not told he is a black slave… but always understood…
He was not a Negro… but black from the sooth.

But people of the opposition do not want to bend
And soon this tradition might come to an end

It could result in a riot if the authorities continue to give permission.
Because people with different believes demand to stop this tradition.

This misinterpretation
Causes a lot of frustration.

I remember I was in heaven
On December 6 …until I was seven.

I am sorry in the future little kids might miss out.
Because Piet’s existence hangs in a Dutch cloud.