Mi smo jos uvek zemljaci

When night and Saturday meet
Such a rush starts in Manhattan
White shirts popping out of flowerpots
Dangerous snouts start up
Female scoundrels, male siblings
But the main fun is still hunting for taxis

The master stopped as if he knew
A light rain quietly extinguishing the headlights
And just before that moment
I thought I recognized Saint Vasil on the visor

All taxi drivers are mostly the same
Old rebels and nihilists
Or silent ones, speechless from ugly scenes
They only startle at familiar speech
Someone honks to make them go faster
A muscle peeks out from the corner of the rearview mirror

But every curse is a trap
And he could hardly wait for us to catch
He pushed the steering wheel like hot soup
Turned around, hit himself on the forehead
A stuck bullet and silence
And the heart beats seven eighths

We were still countrymen yesterday
I immediately recognize our same eyes
Why pretend to be strangers
When you're not

We were still a dream team yesterday
And here's how things stand today
It doesn't matter that the country is new
We're old

In '91, packed the suitcase
Horticulture, currently a driver
Let's go to him, for a wife and sister-in-law

Three glasses he says, I'll say the right word
Four indeed, New York floods
A tear escapes and blurs the ink?

And bitterly he said, may God not allow
Anyone to earn bread with politics, it's a sin
You see, my little sons Vangel and Blaže
Grab the globe, looking for Strumica
And wherever they place a finger on the Balkans
They cover at least three countries

And so the drinks start flowing one after another
Morning passes like fine flour
That old longing for Yugoslavia arises
Nothing serious

God bless my former countrymen
My songs are full of their words
And our sorrows are so equal
That they confuse me