Текст и перевод песни Djordje Balasevic - Aco-Braco

Aco-Braco

Aco-Braco, derane moj trsavi
Ti i ja smo drzava u drzavi
Pukose na vrazjoj burzi
Franjo Josip i Habzburzi
Boljsevici cara skefali
Otis'o na dobos Kajzer ko poslednji salabajzer
Samo nama nista ne fali

Aco-Braco, derane moj stasiti
Kad si vatra svi te 'oce gasiti
Vracaju nam i zavide
Al' to valjda tako ide
Samo lepo mozes ruziti
Neg', ogrni jankel stofan
Suste suknje ko celofan
Zavist valja i zasluziti

Malo mame, malo cerke
Opajdare, kaciperke, kibicuju i zagledaju
Siparice, gradske smizle, porumene ko ribizle
Kad sa nama pripovedaju
Ne bije nas dzabe glas
Zadeni za sesir klas
I mater vetru dok je nama nas

Aco-Braco, derane moj srditi
Da te grdim to mi je ko sebe grditi
To il' nemas ili imas
Da te s vrata spazi primas
Gust je dati, a ne stiskati
Nije gazda kesa suplja
Sto budzasto novce skuplja
Gazda je ko ume spiskati

Aco-Braco, derane moj cestiti
Bog nek gleda di ce koga smestiti
Od Bodjana do Opova
Sila hulja i lopova
Koji grabe sta odaberu
Od Opova do Bodjana
Jos je dobrih Vojvodjana
Da im s neba 'leba naberu

Aco-Braco

Aco-Braco, my cowardly friend
You and I are a state within a state
We're riding the enemy's market
Franz Joseph and the Habsburgs
The Bolsheviks have beheaded the Tsar
Kaiser left for Siberia as the last weakling
Only we have nothing to fear

Aco-Braco, my tall friend
When you're on fire, everyone wants to put you out
They come back to us and envy us
But that's probably how it is
You can only make a beautiful fuss
No, wrap yourself in a cotton cloth
Skirts like cellophane
Envy must be earned

A little bit of mother, a little bit of daughter
Gossipers, show-offs, onlookers, and gawkers
Hags, city slickers, red as currants
When they talk to us
Our reputation is not for nothing
Hit the nail on the head
And curse the wind while we still have it

Aco-Braco, my angry friend
That I scold you is like me scolding myself
You either have it or you don't
That a fiddle player chases you away from the door
It is pleasant to give, but not to hoard
A host is not a host when his pockets are empty
The fool who gathers money
A host is one who knows how to whistle

Aco-Braco, my honest friend
May God see where he will place whom
From Bodjane to Opovo
A crowd of rogues and thieves
Who grab what they choose
From Opovo to Bodjane
There are still good Vojvodjans
For them to pick bread from the sky