Đorđe Balašević – Slabo divanim mađarski

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Slabo divanim mađarski

Slabo divanim madžarski, nešto malo, a i to s greškom.
Tečno govorim rukama i perfektno se služim smeškom.
Ali madžarski ne umem, daj, nauči me, leba ti!
Nisam mog o da pomislim da će mi tol ko trebati.

Tvoje oči mastiljave, crne zrele višnje španske,
tvoje usne sladunjave kao rizling od berbe lanske,
suva trava sva šuškava, kao žipon na nevesti,
ali džabe pripovedam kada ne umem prevesti.

Ma, di ćeš naći boljeg momka za te pare?
Ne budi smešna draga ti,
možeš do veka tragati,
al nećeš naći nikog, tako mi gitare,
ko će te više voleti
i ko će lepše lagati.

Slabo poznajem Szent Tomazs, ali stignem do tvoje kuće.
Tiho zazveckam šibicom, sve se ponadam: možda čućeš.
Ali pendžeri miruju, a te firange čipkane
samo vatru potpiruju tvojom ručicom pipkane.

Ma di ćeš naći boljeg momka za te novce?
Da ste mi sretni on i ti,
ja ću se o ma skloniti,
al me na svilen gajtan vezi kao zvonce
i samo cimni kad poželiš
– ja ću ti zazvoniti.

Slabo divanim madžarski, nešto malo, a i to mani.
Učio sam iz čitanke, al sam ost o na osmoj strani.
Babe su me začarale perom iz krila selice,
ali ti ćeš me rešiti moja medena pčelice.

A hold a felhok moge rejtozott,
ket csillag csak oz egen
mint a szemed,
mint a gyongyharmatka…
a…
… tja, ne znam kako se kaže đurđevak.

English Translation

I Barely Speak Hungarian

I barely speak Hungarian, a little bit, and even that with mistakes.
I am fluent with my hands and perfect at smiling.
But Hungarian is not my thing, teach me, for god’s sake!
I never imagined I’d need it this much.

Your ink like eyes, black, ripe Spanish cherries
Your lips too sweet, like last year’s Riesling,
dry grass all rustly, like a bridal petticoat,
but I’m telling the story in vain as I can not translate it.

Well, where will you find a better guy for the price?
Don’t be silly my dear, you,
can search eternally,
but you won’t find any, I swear on my guitar,
who would love you more
and tell you sweeter lies.

I’m not so familiar with Szent Tomazs, but I find my way to your house.
I rattle with a matchbox, hoping you you might hear.
But the windows remain still, and the lace curtains
only add fuel to the fire, being touched by your lil hands.

Well, where will you find a better guy for the price?
I wish you happiness, to you both,
I’ll go away immediately
but you should tie me with a silk thread like a bell
and feel free to pull any time
– I will ring for you.

I barely speak Hungarian, a little bit, not worth mentioning.
I learned from a school book, but got stuck on page eight.
Old women bewitched me with a feather from a migratory bird’s wing,
but you will fix me my honey bee.

A hold a felhok moge rejtozott,
ket csillag csak oz egen
mint a szemed,
mint a gyongyharmatka…
a…
… pfff, I don’t know what’s the word for lily of the valley.

Album_Djordje Balasevic - Marim ja
Album_Djordje Balasevic – Marim ja

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