THE BLACK MATILDA | Тesto e Тraduzione (al clic)

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By the windy shores o Canada bay I broke my fast for Lucia’s day,

A beguiling figure she blew my way & rattled me rovin’ heart,

The snipers crack, the metronome of pricy heels on polished stone,

That I were soon to call my own by way o’ the ancient art.

I were cozened by a whiff-o-the-whim that scours the Costa harryin’,

The likes o’ men who’ve lost the lamp, the rudderless and bewildered,

The sands below are littered wi’ bones o’ those who’ve taken a belly o’ stones,

And turned their backs on wives & homes to follow the black Matilda.

Ho-ro m’lovelies cross yer hearts & hope to die,

If e’er ye’re drawn beneath a murky fathom of her eye,

Ho-ro my lovelies kiss yer arse a fond goodbye,

Ye’ll never again be able to lift yer head so bloody high.

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