And as on the river, beyond the forest,
|
The slip came out, but in vain
|
We sank a raft with iron,
|
And on the sable iron.
|
Who to blame? |
Yes, like someone.
|
Whom to execute? |
Themselves.
|
And if you run, there seems to be nowhere -
|
Around Demidov land.
|
And without that, it's not better than hard labor
|
We have a life, even a howl of a wolf.
|
And then beaten to death with katami
|
Yes, and sent to slaughter.
|
Not for a lesson - forever and ever.
|
Goodbye birds and thunder.
|
We are married with wheelbarrows,
|
See only teeth and eyes.
|
Oh, lyuli-lyuli-lyushenki,
|
Our souls are gone.
|
Yes, if only we were cordial,
|
How much ruined - do not count.
|
And then spring troubles erupted
|
Yes, they strive to demolish the dam.
|
Trouble went whipping on the wheel,
|
Mortars are poured in Kashtym-city.
|
Peddling along the Stone Belt
|
The dashing working people went.
|
There is a ringing in Chelyaba, the crowd is buzzing,
|
Bells are ringing,
|
Under the drum, under the howling of the horns
|
Ivan Gryaznov himself enters.
|
And who is this, and whose is this?
|
Yes, he is an impostor and a thief,
|
Yes, he is Demidov's serf
|
Indulged in deception
|
Leaked and hid in the foliage,
|
Licked scars, stale soul,
|
Yes, in the Pugachev army
|
He is no ataman.
|
He has already been seated in royal chairs,
|
Repairs the authorities with a steep interrogation.
|
With the people everything is good and kind -
|
Well, seriously with the boyars.
|
Freedom intoxicates the head,
|
A fair trial is taking place
|
Yes, it's a pity the governor took refuge -
|
I would swing my belly in the wind.
|
There is a ringing in Chelyaba, the crowd is buzzing,
|
Bells are ringing.
|
Under the drum, under the howling of the horns
|
The court is headed by Ivan Gryaznov.
|
And who is this, and whose is this?
|
Have you been walking around the world for a long time?
|
Old nun with a stick
|
Guessing behind the stream,
|
He guesses, but does not know,
|
What a betrayal of Emelka.
|
Circling in the steppe over troubles,
|
Crows are waiting for blood.
|
And how the filthy ones will circle
|
Yes, the vile ones will fill the womb,
|
Scarlet spots will cover the snow,
|
Yes, only the memory will not be erased.
|
Oh, how much patience we have been given,
|
How much time will pass? |
--
|
He will raise Russia with oak, with a horn
|
For the truth, lye people.
|
Oh, lyuli-lyuli-lyushenki,
|
Our darlings will not endure. |