Lyrics of Regruteska 29. IV. 1977. - Đorđe Balašević

Regruteska 29. IV. 1977. (original)

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!

(translation)

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!