Wow, I didn’t know this.
When Mozart wasn’t writing one of his 600 masterpieces he wasto his female cousin, the contents of which were usually in a basic rhyme scheme and seriously screwed up. There are tons of snippets to choose from out there, but nothing quite sums up Mozart’s dirtiness as well as when he told his cousin that he wanted to “shit on her nose” and watch it “drip down her chin.”
He would also send letters to his own mother, who thought it was great fun and would often write him back in the same vein. Much like the above letter and the one running down a shrimp’s back, this vein contained way more poop than you’d expect. One of his letters to his mom included the passage “Yesterday, though, we heard the king of farts/ It smelled as sweet as honey tarts/ While it wasn’t in the strongest of voice/ It still came on as a powerful noise.” Another ended with “I now wish you goodnight, shit in your bed with all your might, sleep with peace on your mind and try to kiss your own behind. […] Oh my ass burns like fire! What on earth is the meaning of this! —- maybe muck wants to come out? yes, yes, muck…”
The same genius that wrote “Piano Concerto No 24 in C Minor” also wrote a gem calleda classical party ballad meant to be sung by six people at a time, and followed it up with a sequel called “Lick My Ass Nice and Clean,” the lyrics of which we have included below:
Lick my ass nicely,
lick it nice and clean,
nice and clean, lick my ass.
That’s a greasy desire,
like the licking of roast meat, my daily activity.
Three will lick more than two,
come on, just try it,
and lick, lick, lick.
Everybody lick his own ass himself.
Here’s more on this topic from the Huffington Post:
….take a look at the mostrecent letter up at the archival blog Letters Of Note, from 21-year-old Mozart to his 19-year-old cousin and probable love interest, Marianne. The lengthy letter shows off the composer’s fondness for wordplay and, yes, poop jokes, with lines like “I now wish you a good night, shit in your bed with all your might.”
From there things only get “muckier” — but don’t put it all on young Amadeus. As it’ssaid in our time, the parents must also be held to blame. In this case, that particular couplet at least seems to be inspired by a rhyme Mozart’s mother Anna Maria used on her husband Leopold, also in correspondence. In “Mysterious Mozart,” biographer Phillippe Sollers (translated by Armine Kotin Mortimer) introduces Anna Maria’s original rhyme with the explanation that “the Mozarts in general write strange things to each other.”
From the book: “Adio ben mio. stay well in body and mind / and try to kiss your own behind. / I wish you a good night / shit in bed with all your might, / it’s already past one, so now you can make your own rhymes” (the reference to the time, Sollers explains, is another off-color joke, referencing the German infinitive “scheissen,” or “to shit”).
The passing on of this unusual bedtime rhyme from mother to son is making us feel like we get the Mozarts somehow. Like if they’d been born today, they’d play sonatas with their armpits on YouTube, and watch a lot of Farrelly brothers movies. And frequent certain online communities.
We’ve posted an excerpt of Mozart’s note to Marianne below — and we highly recommend you head to Letters Of Note to read the whole scheiss-show in full. It’s pointed out that Robert Spaethling’s translation yields several instances of the term “spuni cuni fait.” The meaning of the phrase is unknown, but its existence in many of Mozart’s letters has prompted elaborate attempts to crack the code at the fan site Mozart Forum, only one of which, surprisingly, goes below the waist.
Wouldn’t you like to visit Herr Gold-smith again?—but what for?—what?—nothing!—just to inquire, I guess, about the Spuni Cuni fait, nothing else, nothing else?—well, well, all right. Long live all those who, who—who—who—how does it go on?—I now wish you a good night, shit in your bed with all your might, sleep with peace on your mind, and try to kiss your own behind; I now go off to never-never land and sleep as much as I can stand. Tomorrow we’ll speak freak sensubly with each other. Things I must you tell a lot of, believe it you hardly can, but hear tomorrow it already will you, be well in the meantime. Oh my ass burns like fire! what on earth is the meaning of this!—maybe muck wants to come out? yes, yes, muck, I know you, see you, taste you—and—what’s this—is it possible? Ye Gods!—Oh ear of mine, are you deceiving me?—No, it’s true—what a long and melancholic sound!—today is the write I fifth this letter. Yesterday I talked with the stern Frau Churfustin, and tomorrow, on the 6th, I will give a performance in her chambers, as the Furstin-Chur said to me herself. Now for something real sensuble!