The fresh wind break all. The Sea of Azov washing trough
Asks for trouble there hell in.
The pile of watermelons - and the hold is loaded,
The piers is covered with watermelons.
Not do drink any hootch in pre-dawn chill,
On a boring guard do yawn and gape:
Three days and three nights we will have to sail -
And we unfurled the sails above waterscape.
A surf strikes as a white bearded man,
To scatter with splashes and sputter.
I will choose voiced , like a tambourine, watermelon
And I\'ll cut out with a knife the heart there.
The desert sun sets in the sea brine
And the moon will be pushed out in waves ...
Fresh wind blows! Backhand! Let\'s run!
Our bark , move by the sails!
The sea is full of thick lambs flock,
And watermelons rub, and it\'s dark in the hold ...
The wind whistles, in two fingers like a boatswain,
And the clouds are tightly packed in the rain.
We are drawn into a wild carousel.
And the sea stomps like a market eason.
Throws us aground, we are running aground, hell,
Our last fishing season!
The sea is full of shaggy goats the whole,
And watermelons rub, and it\'s dark in the hold ...
I have not yet composed originate last song,
But I feel the chill of death at the sea;
I played often cards, lived as a vagrant
And the sea brings a worthy reward me -
I can\'t make salvage for funny my life -
The rudder was torn off, and pallet leaked high.
The desert sun rises over the sea,
To melt and warm the frozen air;
The bark is now vanished, only floats by waves
Kavun with a painted heart blaze
A surf strikes as a thick bearded man,
The mackerel flock is merry playing.
Low flow on the swell shakes Kavun
And it swims to the shore slightly swaying
Here it will find the end of the stormy trip ,
The wind and pitching are over at least.
Watermelon with a painted heart keeps
My favorite Cossack-maiden missIs
And there is no one here to make her mined,
That she took in her hands heart which is mine…