Baba Novak [English translation]

His Grand Army, Constantinople

Stealing and at the monopoly

Climbs into the horizon

Muhammads come for gifts

Big turban

Their eyes twinkle like money

Greedy and unaware.

"Holy war," cried the prophet

Slaughter the Christian!

Cross yourself, find your destiny

Among the untrodden forests

The Virtuous Mother of God,

Lord Jesus

From the West under the clouds it rises

Baba Novak's band.

Dark-bay horses are flying

They are Death's horses

Picking up thorns from the Christian brothers

The Turks are fleeing, losing their boots

Death collects them into a sack

Seven are those from whom the pastors are fleeing and Baba Novak

The Turks are fleeing, losing their boots

Death collects them into a sack

Seven are those from whom the pastors are fleeing and Baba Novak.

Seven like in Cabernacol, seven the saint

His sons dig the grave for the turban with the emerald

The horses are falling, the ground is red, there is no more tooth

And neither should his eyes stay warm under the dark bed of the night.

Dark-bay horses are flying

They are Death's horses

Picking up thorns from the Christian brothers

The Turks are fleeing, losing their boots

Death collects them into a sack

Seven are those from whom the pastors are fleeing and Baba Novak.

The Turks are fleeing, losing their boots

Death collects them into a sack

Seven are those from whom the pastors are fleeing and Baba Novak.

• Artist:Phoenix
• Album:Baba Novak