Priča O Vasi L. - Đorđe Balašević

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'

Mati mu je bila plava, tiha, nežna, jektičava

Umrla je s' trideset i nešto…

Imali su par jutara zemlje

Malu kuću na kraju sokaka

Na astalu mrve hleba, taman tol’ko kol’ko treba

Al' je Vasa hteo, 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

Uz’o bi je, samo da je znao:

Voleš jednom u životu, sad bogatu il' sirotu

To ne bira pamet, nego srce…

Sve se nad’o da će ljubav proći

Zanavek je otiš'o iz sela

Nikad nije pis’o nikom, venč'o se sa miraždžikom

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

Sve je im’o, ništa im’o nije

Propio se, nije proslo mnogo

Dušu svoju, Ðavolu 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 karuca, čilaša…

Kada nisam s onom koju volem

Znate l' priču o Vasi Ladačkom?

I ja sam je tek onomad čuo

Čak i oni slični njemu, kada razmisle o svemu

Kažu da je bio, čudna sorta.

Do you know the story about Vasa Ladacki?

I only heard it then

Once, for nine days, he didn't leave the bar

They say he was, a strange variety…

His father was a petty paor

'wounded, seven hungry mouths'

His mother was blonde, quiet, gentle, jealous

She died at thirty-something…

They had a couple of acres of land

A small house at the end of the alley

There are just as many loaves of bread left over

But Vasa wanted, much more…

He wanted crow horses, playful across the meadow

Clock with gold chain and farm…

He wanted fertile fields, noble vineyards

In the carts bent chilas

But he couldn't have them

He loved the beautiful or the poor

He would have taken it, if only he had known:

You love once in a lifetime, now rich or poor

It is not the mind that chooses, but the heart…

He hoped that love would pass

He left the village forever

He never wrote to anyone, he married a mirage

Unit daughter, some boss…

He got crow horses, playful across the meadow

Clock with gold chain and farm…

He got fertile fields, noble vineyards

In the carts bent chilas

He has everything, he has nothing

He got drunk, it didn't take long

He has sold his soul to the Devil

All the bartenders knew him, he sought salvation in a glass

But he couldn't find it…

He was young, they say, even when he died

In the middle of the bar, from a heart attack

Only his head sank, as if asleep, as if asleep

And they still remember what it was, the last thing he said.

In vain were horses crowed, playful across the meadow

Free hours and farms…

In vain were the fields fertile, the vineyards noble

In vain was a cart, a chilash…

When I'm not with the one I love

Do you know the story about Vasa Ladacki?

And I only heard it then

Even those like him, when they think about everything

They say he was, a strange sort.