It was on the day of rest, and so I hadnít picked a pocket; On a Sunday, take a break, you get my drift? Then a whistle blows, Iím grabbed, Iím being called all names, like "bandit", But one knew me; he cries out "Recidivist!" "Comrade, donít get in a twist; Now, hereís my surname - itís Sergeev; But about Recidivist There just ainít nothing I can say, guv." It was on the day of rest, but the Old Bill donít get no leisure; Theyíve got targets still to make, thatís what theyíre told. But if they go and overreach them, they get medals they can treasure - So Recidivist is worth his weight in gold. Iím politely asked: "You, sit!" - Then Iím given papirosi. "So, youíre A Recidivist? Sign this statement where the cross is!" It was on the day of rest, that kind of lazy, sunny Sunday; Everyone was there with friends and family - But I was sat there feeling bored like on a dull and gloomy Monday; Then the major spoke official-like to me: "Now how many times is this?" "My maths really ainít that great, guv..." "But youíre A Recidivist?" "No, chief, my name is Sergeev." It was on the day of rest, and I was sweating, up the junction, But the majorís mathematics was just fine; First he started adding numbers, then he multiplied and crunched íem, And he said Iíd been convicted now ten times. The chief handed me a chit; I put my best mark on that paper And I wrote: "Recidivist By the surname of Sergeev." It was on the day of rest and I was tired, I was punch-drunk, But one thing I know, yes, one thing warms my heart: In the filthís seven-year plan to catch the bandits, thieves and such ones I have also played my modest little part.
© Margaret & Stas Porokhnya. Translation, 2007