Anna Perenna, dirty old broad,
you yourself your pimp and bawd,
hiding under Minerva’s veil,
or so Ovid tells the tale,
waiting to laugh at the horny god
who thought that he could blow his wad
between the thighs of a virgin goddess!
Anna Perenna, most immodest,
gladly would lie down with Mars
before he goes out to his wars.
Plow your fields, then take up arms!
Wine will increase Anna’s charms!
Anna Perenna, bless the year,
and by every wine-cup emptied here
extend our lives who honor you,
and now my foolish hymn is through.