Helem nejse - Kabadahija dalszöveg fordítás angol nyelvre

Boor

Ena came to Sarajevo to earn her degree,
Boris, from Čengić Vila, he works in the bar scene.
They first met each other at their friend Sami's,
Known in their circle for throwing crazy parties.
A message, coffee, kiss, and brandy,
A desire 'came over' them, as with Laki*, it was handy.
Both sides were physical, like a yo-yo,
They knew right away this was the way to go.
But Ena also knew something from the start,
Where she came from, which 'hood and which part,
From her mother Selmica and father Fočo Kemica,
The village of Doboj, in Kakanj, in Zenica.
 
You are my folk, my religion, my nation,
You are my politics and my generation.
You are my only country and occupation,
The club that I support and my representation.
 
She turned to her best friend Nina about the guy:
'He's not a Muslim!' - 'Hello, neither am I...'
But she would still have accepted this happily,
The problem was clearing it up with her family.
And one night it was Nina who pled,
Come to a party at Sami's, she was somehow misled.
And there was Boris, drunk with a smoke stink,
She had also had a bit too much to drink.
And then by itself, it started all over again,
He was at her place until 5am, she at his from 5am-5pm.
But when back home for Eid she had come down,
The old man found out, as did the whole town.
 
You are my folk, my religion, my nation,
You are my politics and my generation.
You are my only country and occupation,
The club that I support and my representation.
 
'I DIDN'T PAY YOUR SCHOOL FOR YOU TO WHORE AROUND,
BUT SO YOU COULD STUDY, GOT IT NOW?
YOU'LL GO TO TURKEY WITH YOUR AUNT, ALLAH TAKE MY WORD,
I SENT YOU TO SARAJEVO THINKING THERE IS NOT A SINGLE SERB!'
But when Boris heard about this, he ran out in wrath,
Sat in his car, and found the highway path.
No word from Ena, he got the address from Nina and split,
'It's the yellow house past the fountain, you can't miss it!'
Her cousin calling about some crazy traffic deal,
She fled through the window and got in his wheels.
Heading for Sarajevo, the city under Trebević,
Where there are still good stories to preach.
 
You are my folk, my religion, my nation,
You are my politics and my generation.
You are my only country and occupation,
The club that I support and my representation.
 
Boor, what a boor,
Boor, what a boor.
 


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