Текст песни Борис Штоколов - Вот мчится тройка почтовая

Here racing trio mail
By Mother Volga winter
Coachman, sadly singing,
Violent shakes his head.

& Quot; something to think about, lad? & Quot; -
The passenger said affably.
& Quot; What is at the heart of grief,
Tell me, you who are upset? & Quot;

& Quot; Oh, dear lord, good lord,
It will soon be a year since I love
A heathen-warden, master,
Rebukes me, and I suffer.

Ah, my dear sir, soon yuletide,
And she does not have to be mine,
Rich chose, so hateful -
She can not see the satisfying days ... & quot;

The driver stopped and whip belt
With disappointment tucked in his belt.
& Quot; Mother, stop! Restless! & Quot; -
Said he sighed sadly.

& Quot; For me vzgrustnut five horses,
After parting, greyhounds, with me,
And I certainly do not shoot
By Mother Volga in winter. & Quot;