Paroles et traduction Đorđe Balašević - Berba 59

Berba 59

Kad pijem ne preterivam,
Nit volem nit preferiram
Al' mi se desi
Svega se tako nakupi
Pa tamburama mangupi,
Prepreče put
Krenu duboki uzdasi,
I plitke filozofije
Do kraja onaj bicikli u svakoj strofi je
Par bulki među žarama
I jedna "žoržet" marama
Tih dana sve se svodilo na priče
Dal' je rodilo bolje neg' lane?
Sretni su ljudi ratari,
Njima su neki atari nebo i svet
Beše to carska godina,
Prava se moba probrala
Da ne bi jutra ta banda bi zvezde obrala
A među svim tim šarama
I bela "žoržet" marama
Sva vina sad su opora
Bez slasti i bez otrova
U njima Istina je puna klevete
A pelin, Tamjanika,
Taj spokoj, Ta panika
Tek digod U berbi pedesetdevete
Geni su staro čokoće
U meni slutnja cvokoće
Pred svakom srećom
Vrag ume Boga spopasti
Pa časnom grad upropasti onol'ki trud
Kog časa prvog rampasa
Na mladi mesec opije
Taj posle spadne na loše i gore kopije
Al sve se kupi parama Jedino ne Ta Marama
Sva vina sad su opora
Bez slasti i bez otrova
U njima Istina je puna klevete
A pelin, Tamjanika,
Taj spokoj, Ta panika
Tek digod U berbi pedesetdevete
Sva vina sad su opora
Bez slasti i bez otrova
U njima
Istina je puna klevete
A pelin, tamjanika, taj spokoj, ta panika
Tek digod U berbi pedesetdevete
Teki digod u berbi te i te
Tek digod, ih

Harvest '59

When I drink, I don't overdo it,
I neither like nor prefer it
But it happens to me
Everything piles up like that
Then hooligan tamboura players,
Block the way
Deep sighs begin,
And shallow philosophies
By the end that bicycle is in every stanza
A couple of buns among the embers
And a "georgette" scarf
In those days everything came down to stories
Did it yield better than last year?
Farmers are happy people,
For them some Atari games are heaven and earth
It was an imperial year,
A real mob gathered
That gang would have plucked the stars if it weren't for the morning
And among all those colors
And the white "georgette" scarf
All the wines are bitter now,
Without sweetness and without poison
Truth in them is full of slander
But wormwood, Tamjanika,
That tranquility, That panic
Only whenever In the harvest of fifty-nine
Genes are old vine stocks
In me a premonition of clucking
Before every happiness
The devil knows how to ambush God
And with honor ruin that much effort
At the hour of the first rampage
On the new moon he gets drunk
That later falls to bad and worse copies
But everything is bought with money Except for That Scarf
All the wines are bitter now,
Without sweetness and without poison
Truth in them is full of slander
But wormwood, Tamjanika,
That tranquility, That panic
Only whenever In the harvest of fifty-nine
All the wines are bitter now,
Without sweetness and without poison
In them
Truth is full of slander
But wormwood, tamjanika, that tranquility, that panic
Only whenever In the harvest of fifty-nine
Only whenever in the harvest of that and that
Only whenever, you know