Merry, merry, merrylins, Girly, girlish, girliwins. How can I forget you? In my heart youíve stuck your pins. Think not that I am angry. I pine for you. Iím lonely. No front-line invalid, I, Thrice love-struck only. Come visit Vanechka, You Manyas, you Manelins. Come out and court the wind Like hardy dandelions. Friend of mine, a sculptor, Strong-armed and tender, ah! He brought me back from England A foam-wool, plastic bra. Here fashions have been trailing, Compared to our beloved Perth, Where the latest couture hit Is a Pantagruelian girth. Your habits I know not, But in Denmark, so Iím told, A gallant rendez-vous or two, And to the altar you are towed. How itís with you I know not, But in our dear old France Ten times one can be married With little fuss or dance. Reverse the oars, stout fellows, Before we hit the shore. No need to get up early To celebrate some more. As fresh and spotless as a needle, Olya, Olka, Olyechka, Bring to one whoís feeble Enough for half a century. On the road, as he was limping, The grandpa sought himself a bride. All wrongly thought: heís joking. He took no one for a ride. My sweet one hit the bottle, He emptied it quite nicely, Took no chances, in view of The coming energy crisis. Donít howl, donít whine, donít sneer Over a shortage or petroleum. We have much more to fear From an alcohol offensive. I look - and see one family, On such a Sunday fete. All are sons with one another, Even kinsfolk, linked by fate.
© de Cate + Navrozov. Translation, 1995