Lyrics and translation Djordje Balasevic - Pricica o Vasi L.

Pricica o Vasi L.

Znate l' pricu o Vasi Ladackom
I ja sam je tek onomad cuo
Jednom devet dana nije izlazio iz birtije
Kazu da je bio cudna sorta

Otac mu je bio sitni paor
'Ranio je sedam gladnih usti
Mati mu je bila plava
Tiha, nezna, jekticava
Umrla je s trideset i nesto

Imali su par jutara zemlje
Malu kucu na kraju sokaka
Na astalu navek hleba
Taman tol'ko kol'ko treba
Al' je Vasa hteo mnogo vise

Zeleo je konje vrane, po livadi razigrane
Sat sa zlatnim lancem i salase
Zeleo je njive plodne, vinograde blagorodne
U karuce pregnute cilase
Ali nije mog'o da ih ima

Voleo je lepu, al' sirotu
Uz'o bi je samo da je znao
Voles jednom u zivotu
Sad bogatu il' sirotu
To ne bira pamet nego srce

Sve se nad'o da ce ljubav proci
Zanavek je otis'o iz sela
Nikad nije pis'o nikom
Venc'o se sa mirazdzikom
Jedinicom, kcerkom nekog gazde

Dobio je konje vrane, po livadi razigrane
Sat sa zlatnim lancem i salase
Dobio je njive plodne, vinograde blagorodne
U karuce pregnute cilase
Sve je im'o - nista im'o nije

Propio se, nije proslo mnogo
Dusu svoju djavolu je prod'o
Znali su ga svi birtasi
Trazio je spas u casi
Ali nije mog'o da ga nadje

Mlad je, kazu, bio kad je umro
'Sred birtije od srcane kapi
Klonula mu samo glava
Ko da drema, ko da spava
I jos pamte sta je zadnje rek'o

Dzaba bilo konja vranih, po livadi razigranih
Dzaba bilo sata i salasa
Dzaba bilo njiva plodnih, vinograda blagorodnih
Dzaba bilo karuca, cilasa
Kada nisam s onom koju volem
Kada nisam s onom koju volem

Znate l' pricu o Vasi Ladackom
I ja sam je tek onomad cuo
Cak i oni slicni njemu
Kada razmisle o svemu
Kazu da je bio cudna sorta

Vasya Ladatsky's Story

Do you know the story about Vasya Ladatsky?
I have only just heard it.
Once, for nine days he didn't leave the pub
They say he was a strange fellow.

His father was a poor farmer,
he had to feed seven hungry mouths.
His mother was pale,
quiet, meek, she died of consumption
at the age of thirty or so.

They had a few acres of land
and a small house at the end of the lane.
There was always bread on the table,
just enough for a meal
But Vasya wanted more than that.

He wanted black horses, playing in the meadow.
A watch with a golden chain and cottages.
He wanted fertile fields, noble vineyards
and oxen harnessed to the carts.
But he couldn't have them.

He loved a beautiful, but poor girl,
He would have married her only if he knew
you love only once in your life.
The heart chooses, not the mind, whether
it is a rich girl or a poor one.

He kept hoping that love would pass,
and he left the village forever.
He never wrote to anyone.
He married a rich girl,
the only daughter of some farmer.

He got the black horses, playing in the meadow.
A watch with a golden chain and cottages.
He got the fertile fields, noble vineyards
and oxen harnessed to the carts.
He had everything - and yet he had nothing.

He drank himself to death, it didn't take long,
he sold his soul to the devil.
All the barmen knew him,
he was looking for salvation in the glass,
but he couldn't find it.

They say he was young when he died,
in the middle of the pub from a heart attack.
His head just dropped down
as if he was dozing, as if he was sleeping
And they still remember what he said last.

In vain were the black horses, playing in the meadow.
In vain were the watch and the cottages.
In vain were the fertile fields, the noble vineyards.
In vain were the carts, the oxen.
When you are not with the one you love.
When you are not with the one you love.

Do you know the story about Vasya Ladatsky?
I have only just heard it.
Even those similar to him,
when they think about all this,
say he was a strange fellow.