Katherine, oh, Kathie, Katherinie! Iím delighted by your own ways, Like the Christmas tree youíre so skinny But dressed up youíll have another weight. You will have all bloody fancy dresses, Swear to you by hell and holly ghost, Like the bitch I stabbed after the passes. Take the things just as the way they go Donít get frightened, Kathie, Katherinie, - We shall have the glamour in our ditch Weíll get everything the loot is bringing And not each year I do kill a bitch. Katherinie, throw away the doubts Donítí you trust the words I just have said Fetch the sledge, we gonna have a bout! And the funeral is yet far-fetched...
© Viktor Skliarov. Translation, 2005