Frică mi-e că mor ca mâine [English translation]

Damn you to the Devil, Oltenian women, hey!

Oh, also on you, women from Moldova!

And also on you, women from Ardeal (Transylvania)

You are all thieves by tradition!

You are all thieves by tradition!

And should you see my Oltenian woman, hey,

When Sunday comes, hey,

She will arrange her hair with her hand

And she comes from Craiova (a city in Oltenia),

And calls out about milk: Milk!

What great milk, what great milk!

Women are all thieves,

From Bacau up in the City

Green leaf of the chickpea,

I bring to mind and I cry

who I have been and what I am,

What dear one I have loved

And what horses I have ridden.

What lands I have ploughed

What dark horses I have tired out,

And now I walk through the village

And I may not stand on lamenting]

Thorns, thorns,

I am afraid I will die soon,

I fear I will die soon,

To whom remains my wealth?

If it remains to some girl,

[She might give me cake sometimes]

She might give me a cup with water

And she would mourn me up by my grave

She will say of me from the heart “father.”

If it remains to the sons, oh-oh

They are all prosperous shopkeepers,

Counting the pennies!

I should not be afraid to die.

If it remains to strangers,

To me it is spread on thistles,

I tug at her like some dogs

I tug at her like some dogs

[Give me, God, and don’t give me much

I do not ask for money to loan,

I ask for luck and also health

For then you are rich in everything]

Leave it, leave it, leave it thus

Should live by brother here,

I would kiss, kiss

Saturday, Sunday.