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Vladimir Vysotsky

Moya Tsiganskaya

Song by Vladimir Vysotsky. This song is not a gypsy song but an ode to the gypsies and the tough life that I really like and want to share with you. Enjoy!

Moya Tsiganskaya

V son mne zheltyye ogni
I khriplyu vo sne ya
Povremeni, povremeni
Utro mudreneye
No, i utrom vse ne tak
Net togo vesel’ya
Ili kurish’ na toshchak,
Ili p’yesh’ s pokhmel’ya

Ekh, raz, da yeshche raz
da yeshche mnogo-mnogo mnogo raz.

V kabakakh zelenyy shtof
I belyye salfetki
Ray dlya nishchikh i shutov
Mne zh kak ptitse v kletke
V tserkvi smrad i polumrak
D’yaki kuryat ladan,
Net, i v tserkvi vse ne tak
Vse ne tak kak nado

Ekh, raz, da yeshche raz
da yeshche mnogo-mnogo mnogo raz.

YA — na goru vpopykhakh,
Chtob chego ne vyshlo.
A na gore stoit ol’kha,
A pod goroyu — vishnya.
Khot’ by sklon uvit’ plyushchom —
Mne b i to otrada.
Ekh! Khot’ by chto-nibud’ yeshcho…
Vso ne tak, kak nado!

Ekh, raz, da yeshche raz
da yeshche mnogo-mnogo mnogo raz.

YA togda — po polyu vdol’ reki:
Sveta — t’ma, net Boga!
A v chistom pole — vasil’ki,
I dal’nyaya doroga.
Vdol’ dorogi — les gustoy
S babami-yagami,
A v kontse dorogi toy —
Plakha s toporami.

Ekh, raz, da yeshche raz
da yeshche mnogo-mnogo mnogo raz.

Gde-to koni plyashut v takt,
Nekhotya i plavno.
Vdol’… vdol’ dorogi vso ne tak,
A v kontse — podavno.
I ni tserkov’, i ni kabak —
Nichego ne svyato!
Net, rebyata, vso ne tak!
Vso ne tak, rebyata…

Ekh, raz, da yeshche raz
da yeshche mnogo-mnogo mnogo raz.

Translation:
In my dream – yellow lights,
wheezing in my sleep;
a while longer, a whole longer,
In the morning I’ll be fine!

But in the morning everything’s wrong,
The joy is gone;
Either you smoke on an empty stomach,
Or you quench a hangover.

Hey one, yes
once again;
Hey one, yes
many-many more times…

In the bars; green tablecloths
And white napkins.
Heaven for the poor and slobs,
But for me – like a bird in a cage!

In the church; stench and gloom,
Preachers burning incense.
No! Even in church everything’s wrong,
Not as it should be.

To the mountain I rush,
So that something there might be,
On the mountain stands an alder,
While below a cherry tree;
If only there were ivy on the slope;
I’d get some joy from it,
If only anything else;
It’s not as it should be.

Hey one, yes
once again;
Hey one, yes
many-many more times…

Then to the field I go,
along the river bank;
Some light, some darkness – but no God!
While in the pure field;
there are cornflowers and a distant road.
Along the road there’s a deep forest
With Baba-Yaga witches;
And at the road’s end;
Chopping blocks and axes.

Somewhere the stallions dance in tune,
Unhurried and easy.
Along the road everything is wrong,
But at the end; completely.

Neither in church nor the in the bar-
Nothing is held holy!
No, my friends; everything’s wrong,
Everything’s wrong, my friends!

Hey one, yes
once again;
Hey one, yes
many-many more times…

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