Kazik - W Polskę idziemy

During the week, we’re as quiet as a moth
During the week, we don’t care about anything, bottom to top
But when a man takes his role too seriously, you know
Soon his back or his cross will start to ache, so

During the week, we’re as gray as smoke
During the week, nothing ever happens, 'cause with whom?
And life fits us like a shirt too tight
Until we feel the urge, and once in a while

We go to Poland, dear gentlemen
We go to Poland
Before the first shot buzzes in the head
We take the second

Down to the dregs
For luck, for kids
For the wife’s health

What’s done is done
To this foolish mug
To this thirsty beak

The world didn’t matter before, but now it’s not the same
We devour herring, a buddy laughs, girls grow pale
Our hands itch, our eyes burn, shining like torches
Until dawn drives us into the new week, and during the week

During the week, brother, you heal a hangover slowly
Whether you’re lying down or standing, you just get by
During the week, your eyes stick shut, your back aches
And higher than your kidneys, you won’t jump, you know

During the week, wives in flannel snore through the night
While you tightly wrap your heavy head in a blanket
And in the morning, you glare at people with a bad eye
Until something inside you awakens, and off you go

We go to Poland, dear gentlemen
We go to Poland
Before the first shot buzzes in the head
We mingle with people

Listen, compatriot
To the red poppies
Heart and homeland

The shirt tears
Here, a German bullet
Here, look, a scar

Then we’ll dream a colourful dream
A painted dream
With our faces buried in breaded pork chops
Golden brown breading

We’re full of faith, though our heads feel heavy
Heavy as lead
That no force can bring us down
We, eagles, falcons

And then we’ll slow down and then speed up again
And society respects us; they like us, amen
This one and that one smile at us so kindly
Our privilege as sacred cows grows ever mightily

Some are moved by us, left speechless in fact
Rough on the outside, but a soul – known fact
Something tightens in our gut too, our eyes grow wet
Brothers, comrades, give us a kiss, let’s march in step

We go to Poland, we go to Poland, brothers and friends
Here, no dog’s misery will hold us back; we’ll rest at work’s end
At work, it’s micro, micro and bleak, here Gouda drips
A brute or a hero, Saturday Poland is the alternative pick

When day breaks and hungover titans rise again
And once more, to Poland, dear brothers, none will reprimand
No bad words, whether Łomża or Nakło, will stick to us
If we ever lacked this life, no – we won’t lack it!