I was once a grade-six metalworker. I spent money like water, you see - For my wages would stretch even further With the bonus they paid quarterly. If you drink - now, don’t take this the wrong way - Then you’ve got to have plenty of dough. And I had in Ryazan a fiancee And in Moscow two tarts on the go. To Ryazan I sent letters and presents; To the tarts I’d bring wine and myself. Every evening was just like a penance And at night it was nothing but hell. My work suffered, I got into trouble, I was run down and sore as could be; My strength wasn’t enough - you’d need double - Nor the bonus they paid quarterly. I had rings round my eyes and deep wrinkles. "Go to hell, girls!" I thought finally. "Find another guy, loaded and single, For my health is more precious to me." I felt better than I had for ages; Life became more like it ought to be. On my own I would drink all my wages And the bonus they paid quarterly.
© Margaret & Stas Porokhnya. Translation, 2008