Regruteska 29. IV. 1977. - Đorđe Balašević

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

Mani me

Naš sam dom k`o čergu selio

Tepanja na vino mirišu

Njene stvari sam razdelio

Svaki praznik minut 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

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 svoga babe

Nisi ti za taj jad i pokor

Bre!

My son

You remember your mother vaguely

Good shadows above the cradle

You started to remember too late

I listen to Angel's beauty

I guess I'll know how to find her

Mani me

I moved our home like a rug

Beatings on wine smell

I divided her things

Every holiday is a minute of silence

I didn't know how to escape

Everything stopped

Only life passes

My son

Her eyes are blue

The day is coming for you to join the army

Strange "saints" are celebrated here

My son

How can I let you go

You are all I have left of her

`Where are you going with those thick lashes

Life doesn't really know what's enough

Ma, listen to them

Which, with a battle cry, they lie down

They sing in the glory of knives

They sing, then run away

Time went from top to bottom

Played the worst

My son

Your grandmother will buy you a bagpipe

Tambourine with mother-of-pearl string

The girls will bud in front of the house

Let the dust rise

When the battalion of skirts marches

Everything stopped

Only life passes

My son

Her eyes are blue

The day is coming for you to join the army

Hot heads are pounding

My son

They are all bastards

I will not give her a souvenir

Derane, hold on to your grandmother

You are not for that misery and penance

Bre!