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LT → Serbian, Torlakian dialect, Montenegrin → Serbian Folk → Болна љуба → English
  • Serbian Folk
    Serbian Folk – Болна љуба

    English translation

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Serbian
Original lyrics

Болна љуба

Болна љуба, нане, болна љуба,
Болна љуба болна лежи,
Нит умира, нит умира,
Нит умира, нит се диза.
 
У сред зиму, нане, у сред зиму,
У сред зиму бостан тражи,
Бостан нема, бостан нема,
Бостан нема, вреже има.
 
Болна љуба, нане, болна љуба,
Болна љуба болна лежи,
Нит умира, нит умира,
Нит умира, нит се диза.
 
У сред зиму, нане, у сред зиму,
У сред зиму крушке тражи,
Крушке нема, крушке нема,
Крушке нема, дршке има.
 
Болна љуба, нане, болна љуба,
Болна љуба болна лежи,
Нит умира, нит умира,
Нит умира, нит се диза.
 
У сред зиму, нане, у сред зиму,
У сред зиму гројзе тражи,
Гројзе нема, гројзе нема,
Гројзе нема, гиџе има.
 
Болна љуба, нане, болна љуба,
Болна љуба болна лежи,
Нит умира, нит умира,
Нит умира, нит се диза.
 
English
Translation

My ailing sweetheart

My ailing sweetheart, mom, my ailing sweetheart,
My ailing sweetheart lies bed-ridden,
And neither does she die, neither does she die,
Neither does she die, nor does she rise.
 
In the middle of winter, granny, in the middle of winter,
In the the middle of winter she asks for a melon,
But there is no melon, but there is no melon,
But there is no melon, there are only small sprouts.
 
My ailing sweetheart, mom, my ailing sweetheart,
My ailing sweetheart lies bed-ridden,
And neither does she die, neither does she die,
Neither does she die, nor does she rise.
 
In the middle of winter, granny, in the middle of winter,
In the the middle of winter she asks for pears,
But there are no pears, but there are no pears,
But there are no pears, there are only little stems.
 
My ailing sweetheart, mom, my ailing sweetheart,
My ailing sweetheart lies bed-ridden,
And neither does she die, neither does she die,
Neither does she die, nor does she rise.
 
In the middle of winter, granny, in the middle of winter,
In the the middle of winter she asks for grapes,
But there are no grapes, but there are no grapes,
But there are no grapes, there are only fruitless vines.
 
My ailing sweetheart, mom, my ailing sweetheart,
My ailing sweetheart lies bed-ridden,
And neither does she die, neither does she die,
Neither does she die, nor does she rise.
 
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