The conversation in this song takes place in the Volkspark Friedrichshain, the oldest public park in Berlin. During the Second World War the Nazis made use of the park, constructing flak towers (concrete anti-aircraft towers) there. As a result much of the park was destroyed by Allied bombing. At the end of the war the park was restored, with the huge amount of rubble being used to create two artificial mountains. The larger one (78 metres tall) was given the nickname Mont Klamott, which translates into something like “Rubbish mountain”. The official name is Großer Bunkerberg, while the smaller one (48 metres tall) is known as Kleiner Bunkerberg.

Due to the loss of men in the war the work was mainly carried out by women. Known as Trümmerfrau (literally rubble women), they were not assisted by heavy machinery. Typically they worked with shovels and barrows in what must have been both hazardous and exhausting work. In the GDR (and elsewhere) the Trümmerfrau became a symbol of the woman as worker, reflecting a breaking down of gender stereotypes.

Over time the woodland at Mont Klamott has asserted itself and the hills now appear to be a natural part of the landscape.

Mitten in der City 
zwischen Staub und Straßenlärm
Wächst 'ne grüne Beule        
aus dem Stadtgedärm
Dort hängen wir zum Weekend 
die Lungen in den Wind
Bis ihre schlappen Flügel 
so richtig durchgelüftet sind
Neulich sitz ich 
mit 'ner alten Dame auf der Bank
Wir reden über dies und das
da sag ich: "Gott sei Dank
Da ist ihnen mal was eingefall'n
den Vätern dieser Stadt
Dass unsereins 'n bissel 
frische Luft zum Atmen hat"

Mont Klamott - auf'm Dach von Berlin
Mont Klamott - Sind die Wiesen so grün
Mont Klamott - auf'm Dach von Berlin
Mont Klamott - Sind die Wiesen so grün
Die alte Dame lächelt matt:
"Lass sie ruh'n, die Väter dieser Stadt
Die sind so tot seit 
Deutschlands Himmelfahrt
Die Mütter dieser Stadt hab'n 
den Berg zusamm'gekarrt"
In the middle of the city 
between dust and street noise
A green bulge is growing 
from the bowels of the city
There, for the weekend, we hang
our lungs out in the wind
Until their worn out wings
are completely refreshed with air
The other day I’m sitting
with an old lady on the bench
We talk about this and that 
then I say: “Thank God
They finally realised,
the fathers of this city,
that the likes of us need a bit
of fresh air to breathe”

Mont Klamott - On the roof of Berlin
Mont Klamott - The fields are so green
Mont Klamott - On the roof of Berlin
Mont Klamott - The fields are so green
The old lady smiles wearily:
“Let them rest, the fathers of this city
They've been so dead since 
Germany's ascension to heaven
The mothers of this town 
put the mountain together cart by cart”


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