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Volodia Video (MV)




Performed By: The Gloryists
Length: 3:31
Written by: Constantine Kosyachkov, Eric Wilding




The Gloryists - Volodia Lyrics




The Night
River Lena runs the rails
Telephones are drowned
Telegraphs lost control

Volodia
The workers're in the fields
Hammer and scythes of steel
Reap the Internationale

Vodka, Oh, Volodia
Papa's raving mad
He hordes us to the forest
For the Internationale

Mama
The eldest ate your bread
The valley's crying rose
To cathedrals under ground

Volodia
The drunkards drunk the blood
Ate the bruises with the bones
Now, Lev's cup overflows

Wasn't I mistaken
Wasn't I mistaken
Wasn't I mistaken
Moi Bog

Sin Internationale
Sing Internationale
Sing Internationale
My son

Tatar commissar
Vodka bathed samovars

The vodka spoke through me
The wine, my enemy

Tovarish, Tovarish
Kyiv to Berlin

Volodia
He's now at my door
I see his feet and hands
Drawing in the snow

My son
I was looking for paradise
But found fratricide
Under a pile of skull

Oh, Volodia, Volodia
Our Papa's raving mad
He's burned all our crosses
For the Internationale

Volodia
The nails were in our hands
Crucified revolution
Internationale
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

[ Correct these Lyrics ]

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We currently do not have these lyrics. If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.




The Night
River Lena runs the rails
Telephones are drowned
Telegraphs lost control

Volodia
The workers're in the fields
Hammer and scythes of steel
Reap the Internationale

Vodka, Oh, Volodia
Papa's raving mad
He hordes us to the forest
For the Internationale

Mama
The eldest ate your bread
The valley's crying rose
To cathedrals under ground

Volodia
The drunkards drunk the blood
Ate the bruises with the bones
Now, Lev's cup overflows

Wasn't I mistaken
Wasn't I mistaken
Wasn't I mistaken
Moi Bog

Sin Internationale
Sing Internationale
Sing Internationale
My son

Tatar commissar
Vodka bathed samovars

The vodka spoke through me
The wine, my enemy

Tovarish, Tovarish
Kyiv to Berlin

Volodia
He's now at my door
I see his feet and hands
Drawing in the snow

My son
I was looking for paradise
But found fratricide
Under a pile of skull

Oh, Volodia, Volodia
Our Papa's raving mad
He's burned all our crosses
For the Internationale

Volodia
The nails were in our hands
Crucified revolution
Internationale
[ Correct these Lyrics ]
Writer: Constantine Kosyachkov, Eric Wilding
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid


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