Votian and ingrian folk songs

In English

When I was a young boy,
The girls took me to pick strawberries,
When I grew, became stronger,
I took them to dance with me.

When I was a young boy,
The girls took me to pick blueberries,
When I grew, became stronger,
I made them chase after me.

Don’t cry, poor old woman,
Your daughter is here,
With ten boys around her
And one on her belly button.

Don’t cry, mother,
That the child is poor—
When she sits next to a rich man,
Two rich ones will pay.

Old maiden, the swapped child,
Carried flour to the river,
But a young boy
Smeared soot on her eyes.

Hoopoo hoo, hoopoo hoo,
Red lips, hairy mouth,
It’s raining, it’s shaking
And a man is scolding his wife.

Your old woman and our old woman,
Climbed up the hill.
Climbed up the hill,
Held on to their boobs.
Held on to their boobs,
Slid down the hill.

Let me sing, my flat mouth,
Let me bang, my crooked nose!
I’m not allowed to sing,
Not allowed to be joyous at all—
I made my mouth sing,
Made myself joyous.
The mouth sings, the heart worries,
Tears roll out of my eyes.
One was to blame—my father,
Another was to blame—my mother—
Why did they make me like this,
Face scarred with pox marks?
I do not dare to go visit
Because of my great boys—
Girls, damned ones, will talk,
Old hags will compare.

A child had a dream,
That a fly showed light,
But a hen melted copper
And a pig shitted snow.

Snow came, snow melted,
Summer came early,
I went to walk in the forest,
Found a bird’s nest.
There was an egg in the nest,
A hatchling in the egg,
But the hatchling’s beak
Looked like a well pole.