No.4968
rockabilly is unambiguously bourgeois
No.6150
While in the merry month of May, from me home I started
Left the girls of Tuam so sad and broken hearted
Saluted father dear, kissed me darling mother
Drank a pint of beer, me grief and tears to smother
Then off to reap the corn, leave where I was born
Cut a stout black thorn to banish ghosts and goblins
Bought a pair of brogues rattling o'er the bogs
And fright'ning all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin
One, two, three, four, five,
Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road
All the way to Dublin, whack follol de rah
In Mullingar that night I rested limbs so weary
Started by daylight next morning blithe and early
Took a drop of pure to keep me heart from sinking
That's a Paddy's cure whenever he's on drinking
See the lassies smile, laughing all the while
At me curious style, 'twould set your heart a bubblin'
Asked me was I hired, wages I required
I was almost tired of the rocky road to Dublin
One, two, three, four, five
Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road
All the way to Dublin, whack follol de rah
In Dublin next arrived, I thought it such a pity
To be soon deprived a view of that fine city
So then I took a stroll, all among the quality
Me bundle it was stole, all in a neat locality
Something crossed me mind, when I looked behind
No bundle could I find upon me stick a wobblin'
Inquiring for the rogue, they said me Connaught brogue
Wasn't much in vogue on the rocky road to Dublin
One, two, three, four, five
Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road
All the way to Dublin, whack follol de rah
From there I got away, me spirits never falling
Landed on the quay, just as the ship was sailing
The Captain at me roared, said that no room had he
When I jumped aboard, a cabin found for Paddy
Down among the pigs, played some hearty rigs
Danced some hearty jigs, the water round me bubbling
When off Holyhead, I wished meself was dead
Or better for instead on the rocky road to Dublin
One, two, three, four, five
Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road
All the way to Dublin, whack follol de rah
Well, the boys of Liverpool, when we safely landed
Called meself a fool, I could no longer stand it
Blood began to boil, temper I was losing
Poor old Erin's Isle they began abusing
"Hurrah me soul" says I, me Shillelagh I let fly
Some Galway boys were nigh and saw I was a hobble in
With a load "Hurray" joined in the affray
We quietly cleared the way for the rocky road to Dublin
One, two, three, four, five
Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road
And all the way to Dublin, whack follol de rah
No.6151
Тачанка
Ты лети с дороги, птица,
Зверь, с дороги уходи!
Видишь, облако клубится,
Кони мчатся впереди!
И с налета, с поворота,
По цепи врагов густой
Застрочит из пулемета
Пулеметчик молодой.
Припев:
Эх, тачанка-ростовчанка,
Наша гордость и краса,
Конармейская тачанка,
Все четыре колеса!
Эх, за Волгой и за Доном
Мчался степью золотой
Загорелый, запыленный
Пулеметчик молодой.
И неслась неудержимо
С гривой рыжего коня
Грива ветра, грива дыма,
Грива бури и огня.
Припев:
Эх, тачанка-киевлянка,
Наша гордость и краса,
Комсомольская тачанка,
Все четыре колеса!
По земле грохочут танки,
Самолеты петли вьют,
О буденновской тачанке
В небе летчики поют.
И врагу поныне снится
Дождь свинцовый и густой
Боевая колесница,
Пулеметчик молодой.
Припев:
Эх, тачанка-полтавчанка,
Наша гордость и краса,
Пулеметная тачанка,
Все четыре колеса!
Fly off the road, bird,1
Beast, get out of the way!
You see a [dust] cloud is swirling,
Horses are rushing ahead!
And with a charge, with a turn,
Over chains of enemies thick
Stutters from the machine-gun
The machine-gunner is young.
Chorus:
Oh, Tachanka from Rostov,
Our pride and beauty,
Red Cavalry Tachanka,
All four wheels!
Oh, over the Volga and over the Don [rivers]
The golden steppes rushed [past]
Bronzed, dusty
The machine-gunner is young.
And rushing unrestrained
With the horses' ginger manes
Manes of wind, manes of smoke
Manes of storm and fire.
Chorus:
Oh, Tachanka of Kiev,
Our pride and beauty,
Tachanka of the Komsomol*
All four wheels!
On the ground the tanks rumble,
Airplanes loop and weave
About the Tachanka of Budennovsk
In the sky, the pilots sing.
And the enemy still is dreaming
The rain is leaden and heavy
Battle chariot,
The machine-gunner is young.
Chorus:
Oh, Tachanka of Poltava,
Our pride and beauty,
Machine-Gun [bearing] Tachanka
All four wheels!