I went to a gornisht party with really recalcitrant friends,
A chance to share “no” everywhere and say “no” once again.
When I got the gornisht party, no one there was tame;
They won’t patronize me or ever “yes” declaim.

So, it’s all night, “No!” They spurn—kvetchin’s swell;
You see, they can’t please anyone, so they’ve got to screech and yell.

People came to put feet down, “f**ked beyond repair,”
“No-no”. . .terms that gall some; there’s a nihilistic air.
And “no sir”s were in order, “nothings”. . .no surprise,
“Nix it” boos, “stick its” in profus-ion. . .other such cries.

So, it’s all night, “No!” They’ve learned kvetchin’ well;
You see, they can’t please anyone, so they’ve got to shriek and yell.

Playing was an old song; I need not say its name.
Then I heard the Jewish cadences—out they came.
Them Fugs fellows, a crew o’ dudes back in the sixties—
When they sang a song about naught for naught, it was time to grieve.

It’s not alright, no, a burpin’, retchin’ yell—
You see they can’t see any fun in an existential hell.

Someone opened up a “f**k it” roar and mouthed next, “Jaundiced be good!”
Saying his Sartre. . .like living in hell; all looked and understood.
There ain’t much to say at gar nicht parties; often you’ll hear “What the f**k?!”
For kvetching sprees, you bet, they please; high-fivers, outta luck.

So, it all night, “No!” They’ve learned kvetchin’ well,
And if they can’t grieve anyone, well, they’re gonna leave crestfell.