Текст и перевод песни Đorđe Balašević - Priča O Vasi Ladačkom

Priča O Vasi Ladačkom

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 Ladački

Do you know the story of Vasa Ladački?
I only heard it the other day.
Once for nine days he did not
Leave the tavern,
They say he was a strange sort.

His father was a small-time farmer,
He fed seven hungry mouths.
And his mother was blonde,
Quiet, gentle, consumptive.
She died at thirty-something.

They had a few acres of land
And a small house at the end of the street.
There was always bread on the table,
Just enough for what was needed,
But Vasa wanted much more.

He wanted black horses
Frolicking in the meadow,
A watch with a gold chain and cottages.
He wanted fertile fields,
Noble vineyards,
Fast-paced carriages,
But he couldn't have them.

He loved a beautiful but poor woman.
And he would only take her if he knew:
You love once in a lifetime,
Now rich or poor,
This is not chosen by the mind but by the heart.

And he kept hoping that his love would pass.
He left the village forever
And never wrote to anyone.
He married a wealthy woman,
The only daughter of a rich man.

He got black horses
Frolicking in the meadow,
A watch with a gold chain and cottages.
He got fertile fields,
Noble vineyards,
Fast-paced carriages.
And he had everything, he had nothing.

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

They say he was still young when he died.
In the middle of the tavern from a heart attack.
Only his head drooping,
As if dozing, as if sleeping,
And they still remember what he last said:

In vain were the black horses
Frolicking in the meadow,
In vain was the watch and the cottages.
In vain were the fertile fields,
The noble vineyards,
In vain were the fast-paced carriages.

When I'm not with the one I love...
...when I'm not with the one I love.
Ah, when I'm not with the one I love!
When I'm not with the one I love.