Текст и перевод песни Đorđe Balašević - Regruteska 29. IV. 1977.

Regruteska 29. IV. 1977.

Sine moj
Ti se majke sećaš nejasno
Dobre senke iznad kolevke
Poč'o si da pamtiš prekasno
Osluškujem lepet anđela
Znaću valjda da je nađem ja

Eh, mani me
Naš sam dom k'o čergu selio
Tepanja na vino mirišu
Njene stvari sam razdelio
Svaki praznik minu ćuteći
Sebi nisam znao uteći

Stade sve, samo život prođe
Sine moj, oči njene plave
Stiže dan da u vojsku pođeš
Čudni se ovde sveci slave

Sine moj, kako da te pustim
Ti si sve što mi od nje osta
'Di ćeš s tim trepuškama gustim
Život baš ne zna šta je dosta, ej

Ma, slušaj njih
Što uz bojni poklič legaju
Pevaju u slavu noževa
Pevaju pa onda begaju
Pošlo vreme s goreg na gore
Razigralo one najgore

Sine moj
Gajde će ti baba kupiti
Tamburu sa 'ticom sedefnom
Cure će pred kućom pupiti
Nek' se šorom digne prašina
Kad bataljon suknji maršira

Stade sve samo život prođe
Sine moj, oči njene plave
Stiže dan da u vojsku pođeš
Lumpuju usijane glave

Sine moj, sve su to barabe
Ne dam ja mog spomenka bokor
Derane drž' se tvoga babe
Nisi ti za taj jad i pokor, bre

Regruteska 29. IV. 1977.

My son
You remember your mother vaguely
A good shadow over the cradle
You started remembering too late
I'm listening to the flutter of angels
I'll know how to find her, I suppose

Oh, leave me alone
Our home was like a blanket, I moved it
Wine-scented whispers
I divided her things
Every holiday passed in silence
I couldn't escape myself

Everything stopped, only life went on
My son, her blue eyes
The day is coming when you'll go to the army
Strange saints are celebrated here

My son, how can I let you go
You're all I have left of her
Where will you go with those thick eyelashes
Life just doesn't know what's enough, hey

But listen to them
Who lie down with a battle cry
Singing in praise of knives
They sing and then they run away
Time went from bad to worse
It stirred up the worst of them

My son
Grandma will buy you a bagpipe
A tambourine with a mother-of-pearl bird
Girls will bloom in front of the house
Let the dust rise with the shuffling
When the battalion of skirts marches

Everything stopped, only life went on
My son, her blue eyes
The day is coming when you'll go to the army
Lumpy, hot heads

My son, they're all scoundrels
I won't give my dear memory to them
Young man, stick with your grandfather
You're not cut out for that misery and submission, man