17.03.2025
Our World is Beautiful (Villagers' Reprise)
From the highest point in the sky (To the end of the mines)
Where is the spark? (That illuminates us)
What did it look like?
If only we knew
If only this kingdom
Would become beautiful again
Porçay - Sayın Atatürk Лирицс транслатион то енглисх
Mr. Ocalan The Baby Killer
Dear OcalanOur great leader!
You dear hands are covered with the blood of thousands of innocent babies you've killed and the blood of the children you recruited as soldiers to die for your racist mindless war1
OÇ OÇ OCALAN2
You have built us an entire terror army with the heroin money
from Europe and USA3
Great leader OÇ OÇ OCALAN
Your mother was a whore and we are proud of her
We have chosen her as the mother of all our peoples
Although PKK is Recognized as a Terrorist Organization by almost all the governments of the free world world!4
We still see them as freedom fighters!
And we are still allowed to do our racist propaganda and puke our hate out for the citizens of Turkey here on LT.
Although you killed many thousands of civilians
You are still our great leader in our hearts!
Great leader OÇ OÇ OÇALAN
The Great Son of a Great Whore!
Још текстова песама из овог уметника: Porçay
Сви текстови песама на овој веб локацији су само за личну и образовну употребу.
Сви текстови песама су власништво и ауторска права њихових власника или власника.
Више лирицс транслатионс
From the highest point in the sky (To the end of the mines)
Where is the spark? (That illuminates us)
What did it look like?
If only we knew
If only this kingdom
Would become beautiful again
17.03.2025
Rain
Struggled, waiting for sun
The city tired of rains
You slept, crying, swallowing blood
When the dawn was seen on the horizon
I never complaint about fate
Even if it turned my morning into evening
With this evening, it brought
My heart that was left away
Little by little, it rained
My heart shattered into little pieces
When it became morning againi
'Do you love me?' - I asked
You never asked for anything
You admired my eyebrows and eyes a thousand times
Stroking your black hair,
I lost myself this night
Struggled, waiting for sun
The city tired of rains
Where do you go, swallowing blood?
Where would the dawn lead me?
17.03.2025
Sawah Lettuces
Sawah lettuces spread out all over the ricefields
Sawah lettuces spread out all over the ricefields
The boy's mother came by to pick some sawah lettuce
The boy's mother came by to pick some sawah lettuce
Without looking, she grabbed a bunch and left
The sawah lettuces has now been brought back home
In the morning, the sawah lettuces are sold at the market
In the morning, the sawah lettuces are sold at the market
Laid out in rows, all tied up as well to be sold
Laid out in rows, all tied up as well to be sold
The girl's mother bought some while carrying a woven basket
The sawah lettuces are now ready to be cooked
Sawah lettuces are placed in a pot of boiling water
Sawah lettuces are placed in a pot of boiling water
Half-cooked, it's then strained to be eaten as a side dish
Half-cooked, it's then strained to be eaten as a side dish
With two plates of rice and nasnaran, sitting on a divan
The sawah lettuce is eaten with rice
17.03.2025
The Little Bunch of Rushes
O maiden of the finest rushes1
What a pity for you that my bundle has come undone
Would you come with me, just the two of us
Under the bank of the wood with the brightest flowers
No priest would ever hear of it
Nor any living soul
Until the birds start to talk in human language
And the blackbird starts speaking Greek.
I’ve no stockings nor shoes
Not even a stool to sit down on
I haven't a penny in the whole wide world
Unless Jesus Christ should take pity on me
My trousers are threadbare
And as you know, my blanket is worn out
Yet still there are plenty of women in the taverns
Who chase after me just for the price of a drink
Oh, did you think to entice me, young man
With your flattery? Well, it did you no good
There’s many a sensible girl
Carrying a load who has been led astray
But I myself would rather carry heavy loads
And drag them till the day I die
Than have your child on my knee
Asking for news of you when you're nowhere to be found
- 1. Rushes are a kind of grass-like plant used to make floor coverings and furniture, traditionally collected by young women. The motif of gathering rushes often has sexual connotation in folk songs of the British Isles and Ireland in both English and Irish. This song is no exception.