Текст песни Русские народные песни - Вот мчится тройка почтовая

That trio rushes mail
According to Mother Volga in winter,
The driver, sadly singing,
Violent shakes his head.

"What are you thinking, lad? -
The passenger asked affably. -
What is at the heart of sorrow,
Tell me, who are you upset? "

"Oh, lord, lord, good lord,
It will soon be a year since I love,
A heathen-mayor, Tatar
I admonish me, and I suffer.

Ah, sir, sir, soon yuletide,
And she does not have to be mine,
Rich chosen so hateful -
She can not see the satisfying of days ... "

The driver stopped and whip belt
With disappointment he tucked in his belt.
"Mother, stop! Restless! -
He said he sighed sadly. -

For me vzgrustnutsya five horses,
After parting, greyhounds, with me,
And I certainly do not shoot