Текст и перевод песни Djordje Balasevic - Priča O Vasi L.

Priča O Vasi L.

Znate l' priču o Vasi Ladačkom?
I ja sam je tek onomad čuo.
Jednom devet dana nije

Izlazio iz birtije,
Kažu da je bio čudna sorta.

Otac mu je bio sitni paor,
'Ranio je sedam gladnih usti.
A mati mu je bila plava,
Tiha, nežna, jektičava.
Umrla je s trideset i nešto.

Imali su par jutara zemlje
I malu kuću na kraju sokaka.
Na astalu navek hleba,
Taman tol'ko kol'ko treba,
Al' je Vasa 'teo mnogo više.

Želeo je konje vrane
Po livadi razigrane,
Sat sa zlatnim lancem i salaše.
Želeo je njive plodne,
Vinograde blagorodne,
U karuce pregnute čilaše,
Ali nije mog'o da ih ima.

Voleo je lepu, al' sirotu.
I uz'o bi je samo da je znao:
Voleš jednom u životu,
Sad bogatu il' sirotu,
To ne bira pamet nego srce.

I sve se nad'o da će ljubav proći.
Zanavek je otiš'o iz sela
I nikad nije pis'o nikom.
Venč'o se sa mirazdžikom,
Jedinicom ćerkom nekog gazde.

Dobio je konje vrane
Po livadi razigrane,
Sat sa zlatnim lancem i salaše.
Dobio je njive plodne,
Vinograde blagorodne,
U karuce pregnute čilaše.
I sve je im'o, ništa im'o nije.

Propio se, nije prošlo mnogo,
Dušu svoju Đavolu je prod'o.
Znali su ga svi birtaši,
Tražio je spas u čaši,
Ali nije mog'o da ga nađe.

Mlad je kažu bio i kad je umro.
Sred birtije od srčane kapi.
Klonula mu samo glava,
K'o da drema, k'o da spava,
I još pamte šta je zadnje rek'o:

Džaba bilo konja vranih
Po livadi razigranih,
Džaba bilo sata i salaša.
Džaba bilo njiva plodnih,
Vinograda blagorodnih,
Džaba bilo u karuca čilaša.

Kada nisam s onom koju volem...
...kada nisam s onom koju volem.
Eh, kad nisam s onom koju volem!
Kada nisam s onom koju volem.

The Story of Vasa L.

Do you know the story of Vasa Ladački?
I only heard it the other day.
For nine days

He didn't step out of the bar,
They say he was a strange guy.

His father was a poor peasant,
He fed seven hungry mouths.
And his mother was fair,
Silent, tender, consumptive.
She died in her early thirties.

They owned a couple of acres of land
And a small house at the end of the street.
There was always bread on the table,
Just enough,
But Vasa wanted much more.

He wanted black horses
Frolicking in the meadow,
A watch with a gold chain and log cabins.
He wanted fertile fields,
Noble vineyards,
Horses harnessed to carriages,
But he couldn't have them.

He loved a beautiful but poor woman.
And he would have married her if he had known:
You love once in your life,
Whether she is rich or poor,
Your heart chooses, not your mind.

And he kept hoping that his love would pass.
He left the village for good
And never wrote to anyone.
He married a wealthy heiress,
The only daughter of a rich farmer.

He got black horses
Frolicking in the meadow,
A watch with a gold chain and log cabins.
He got fertile fields,
Noble vineyards,
Horses harnessed to carriages.
And he had everything, but he had nothing.

He drank himself to death, it didn't take long,
He sold his soul to the Devil.
All the bartenders knew him,
He sought salvation in a glass,
But he couldn't find it.

They say he was still young when he died.
In the middle of a bar from a heart attack.
His head just lolled,
As if he was dozing, as if he was sleeping,
And they still remember what he said last:

What good were the black horses
Frolicking in the meadow,
What good were the watch and the log cabins.
What good were the fertile fields,
The noble vineyards,
What good were the horses harnessed to carriages.

When I was not with the one I love...
...when I was not with the one I love.
Oh, when I was not with the one I love!
When I was not with the one I love.