Russian Song Words

Compiled by Dick Oakes


Byelolitsa, Kruglolitsa (Khorovod)
        White-face, round-face (Girl's round dance)

Byelolitsa kruglolitsa krasnaya divyitsa
/ Pri dalyinushkye stayala kalinu lamala /
 
/ Na darozhinku brasala druga vazvrasala /
 
/ Varatyisya moy lyubyezni varatyisya syertse /
 
/ Ni varotyisha moy mili hatya aglyinyisya /
 
/ Ni aglyanyisha moj mili makhni hot rukoyu /
 
Makhni pravayu rukoyu shlyapay puhavoyu
 
  A white-faced, round-faced beautiful girl
Stood by a valley, broke a guilder-rose.
 
She threw it on the road to return to her friend.
 
Come back, my beloved, come back, my heart.
 
My darling did not come back, but looked back.
 
Don't just look back, my darling, but wave your hand.
 
Wave your right hand with your fur hat.
 


Katia (Nashe Kate)
        Katya (Our Kate)

/ Nashi Kati Gorya mnoga. /
 
        Chorus:
        Kalina-malina, cheryamukha lyebyeda
        Konfeta moya, lyedinistaya.
        Polyubila ya takova
        Nyezistovo.
 
/ Gorja mnoga, muzh guljaka. /
 
Chorus
 
/ Pozdno vyecher on gulyayat. /
 
Chorus
 
/ Pro Katyusha zabivayet. /
 
Chorus
 
/ A Kayyusha nye univayet. /
 
Chorus
 
/ Zaprigay-ka mili troyku. /
 
Chorus
 
/ Troyku konyi voronie. /
 
Chorus
 
  Our Katia has many sorrows.
 
        Chorus:
        Cranberry-raspberry, bird cherry, goosefoot,
        My piece of candy, frozen.
        I fell in love with such a one,
        He's not much to look at.
 
Much sorrow, the husband is a playboy.
 
Chorus
 
He carouses late at night.
 
Chorus
 
He forgets about Katyusha.
 
Chorus
 
But Katyusha isn’t depressed.
 
Chorus
 
Do harness, dear one, a troika!
 
Chorus
 
A troika, raven-black horses.
 
Chorus
 


Korobushka
        Pedler's Pack

Oi, palna, palna korobushka, yest' i sitits i parcha.
/ Pazhaley dusha zaznobushka, maladyetskava plyecha. /
Vyidu, vyidu v rozh vysokuyu, tam da nochki pasizhu,
/ Lish uvizhu cherna-okuyu fsye tavarye razlazhu. /
Oi palna . . .
 
  Oh full, full is my peddler's pack. I have satins and brocadesl
Take pity, my dear one, oh the weight on my aching shoulders!
I walk and I walk through the tall rye, there to wait until nightfall.
And maybe I will meet a dark-eyed one and spread my wares before her.
Oh full . . .