Paroles et traduction Djordje Balasevic - Boza Zvani Pub

Boza Zvani Pub

Ovo je priča koju vrlo rado pričam,
To je priča o Boži zvanom "Pub".
Jedni ga hvale, drugi žale, treći kažu: "E, moj brale,
Taj je bio kvaran kao šupalj zub".

Odavde pa sve do Pešte i do Srema na jugu
Jos priča bajke o njemu mutni kockarski krug
I kažu: "Taj u životu nije igr o na dug!"
I svi se slažu kako danas nema takvih kao Boža Pub.

Negde je imao imanje, to se znalo, više - manje,
Mada o tom nije prič o ni za lek.
Treb o je biti veterinar, al je ter o neki inat,
Pa je živeo od kocke ceo vek.

O, taj je pratio karte k o da vidi kroz njih.
I uvek ladan kao špricer, uvek opasno tih,
I samo kad tera maler on bi rekao stih.
I svi još pamte reči kojim maler tera Boža zvani Pub.

Džaba vam novci moji sinovci, džaba vam bilo dobre volje.
I pogledi čvrsti, lepljivi prsti, ja ipak varam malo bolje.

E, pa da!

Al karta je kurva, izvin te me što psujem,
Jer ja samo pričam onako kako čujem.
I ako su lagali mene i ja lažem vas.

Tu priču zna svako, od vraga do popa,
Jer mnogi su mangupi ostali tropa.
Kockar se krije i čuči u svakom od nas
I čeka pravi čas.

Jednom se kart o s nekim ruskim emigrantom,
To je bio lihvar, bogat kao knez.
Igr o je i upravnik pošte zvani Ljupče od milošte
I neki švercer kog je jurio sav srez.

U, to je partija bila, jos se priča o njoj,
Kibiceri u transu, ladan probija znoj.
Na stolu kamara para, da ne spominjem broj,
I povuk o je damu na osamn est, mrtav ladan, Boža zvani Pub.

A znate li za ono kad je s izvesnim baronom
Igr o četir dana? To je bio rat!
Išle ga stalno karte jake pa je odn o i fijaker,
Crnog konja, tabakeru, štap i sat.

Baron je pričao posle da je špil bio star,
Da je previše pio, da ga poneo žar!
Ma, svi što gube se ljute, to je poznata stvar,
A svako gubi bar ponekad ali nikad Boža zvani Pub.

Džaba vam novci moji sinovci, džaba vam bilo dobre volje...

Sa švalerske strane nije spad o u Tarzane,
Al daleko od tog da je bio zec.
Im o je neke tu i tamo, al svi vrlo dobro znamo
Da kod žena igra neki peti kec.

Ljubav je igra u kojoj često ne pali blef,
Srce se otvara teže nego najbolji sef.
I bio im je veran sve do sudnjeg dana Boža zvani Pub.

Gospodo draga, on je nestao bez traga
I to celoj priči daje čudan ton.
Neki se džambasi kleli da su kod Sombora sreli
Jednog tipa što je bio isti on.

Možda ga odvela karta čak u Prag ili Beč.
Već dugo niko o njemu nije čuo ni reč.
Dal se još drži na svetu il je predao meč
Pa s anđelima na vrh neba igra raub, preferans i ajnc?

Džaba vam novci moji sinovci, džaba vam bilo dobre volje.

Boza, Known as Pub

This is a story I love to tell,
It's the story of Boza, known as "Pub".
Some praise him, others pity him, while others say, "Oh, brother,
He was as crooked as a hollow tooth".

From here all the way to Pest and down to Srem in the south,
The murky gambling circles still tell tales of him.
And they say, "That man never played on credit in his life!"
And everyone agrees there's no one like Boza Pub these days.

He had some land somewhere, that much was known, more or less,
Though he never spoke of it, not one bit.
He should have been a veterinarian, but he held a certain stubbornness,
So he lived off gambling his whole life.

Oh, he could read cards like he could see through them.
And always cool as a spritzer, always dangerously quiet,
And only when he was pushing his luck would he say a verse.
And everyone still remembers the words Boza, known as Pub, used to push his luck.

Your money's no good, my nephews, your good intentions are in vain.
With your steady gazes and sticky fingers, I still cheat a little better.

Well, yes!

But a card is a whore, excuse my language,
Because I only speak as I hear.
And if they lied to me, then I'm lying to you.

Everyone knows this story, from the devil to the priest,
Because many a rogue has been left broke.
A gambler hides and crouches in each of us
And waits for the right moment.

Once he played cards with a Russian emigrant,
He was a loan shark, rich as a prince.
The postmaster, nicknamed Ljupče out of endearment, also played,
And some smuggler who was wanted by the whole district.

Oh, that was a game, they still talk about it,
The onlookers in a trance, a cold sweat breaking through.
A pile of money on the table, not to mention the amount,
And he drew a queen on eighteen, dead calm, Boza, known as Pub.

And do you know about the time he played with a certain baron
For four days straight? That was a war!
He kept getting good cards, so he took the carriage,
The black horse, the snuffbox, the cane and the watch.

The baron later claimed the deck was old,
That he had drunk too much, that he had been carried away by the heat!
Well, all losers get angry, that's a known fact,
And everyone loses at least sometimes, but never Boza, known as Pub.

Your money's no good, my nephews, your good intentions are in vain...

On the romantic side, he wasn't exactly Tarzan,
But far from being a rabbit.
He had some here and there, but we all know very well
That with women, a fifth ace comes into play.

Love is a game where bluffing often doesn't work,
The heart is harder to open than the best safe.
And he was faithful to them until his dying day, Boza, known as Pub.

Dear gentlemen, he disappeared without a trace
And that gives the whole story a strange tone.
Some musicians swore they met near Sombor
A guy who looked just like him.

Maybe the cards took him all the way to Prague or Vienna.
It's been a long time since anyone has heard a word about him.
Whether he's still holding on in the world or has surrendered the match
And is playing robbery, preference and vingt-et-un with the angels on top of heaven?

Your money's no good, my nephews, your good intentions are in vain.