# Tachanka (song)

"Tachanka" (/təˈtʃæŋkə/; Russian: Tачанка), also known as the "Song of the Tachanka" (Песня о Тачанке), is a Soviet revolutionary song from the late interwar period, composed by Konstantin Listov and written by Mikhail Ruderman in 1937.
The song describes an unnamed battle in the Russian Civil War and the tachankas that were used by the Red Army at the time. It underwent several lyrical changes over the years, and features in the repertoire of the Red Army Choir and Leon Lishner.

## Lyrics

| Russian original | English translation |
| Cyrillic scriptLatin scriptIPA transcription I Ты лети с дороги, птица, Зверь, с дороги уходи! Видишь, облако клубится, Кони мчатся впереди! II И с налёта, с поворота, По цепи врагов густой Застрочит из пулемёта Пулемётчик молодой. Припев: Эх, тачанка-ростовчанка, Наша гордость и краса, Конармейская тачанка, Все четыре колеса! III Эх, за Волгой и за Доном Мчался степью золотой Загорелый, запылённый Пулемётчик молодой. IV И неслась неудержимо С гривой рыжего коня Грива ветра, грива дыма, Грива бури и огня. Припев: Эх, тачанка-киевлянка, Наша гордость и краса, Комсомольская тачанка, Все четыре колеса! V По земле грохочут танки, Самолёты петли вьют, О будённовской тачанке В небе лётчики поют. VI И врагу поныне снится Дождь свинцовый и густой Боевая колесница, Пулемётчик молодой. Припев: Эх, тачанка-полтавчанка, Наша гордость и краса, Пулемётная тачанка, Все четыре колеса! I Ty leti s dorogi, ptica, Zverj, s dorogi uhodi! Vidišj, oblako klubitsja, Koni mčatsja vperedi! II I s naljota, s povorota, Po cepi vragov gustoj Zastročit iz pulemjota Pulemjotčik molodoj. Pripev: Eh, tačanka-rostovčanka, Naša gordostj i krasa, Konarmejskaja tačanka, Vse četyre kolesa! III Eh, za Volgoj i za Donom Mčalsja stepiu zolotoj Zagorelyj, zapyljonnyj Pulemjotčik molodoj. IV I neslasj neuderžimo S grivoj ryžego konja Griva vetra, griva dyma, Griva buri i ognja. Pripev: Eh, tačanka-kievljanka, Naša gordostj i krasa, Komsomolskaja tačanka, Vse četyre kolesa! V Po zemle grohočut tanki, Samoljoty petli viut, O budjonnovskoj tačanke V nebe ljotčiki pojut. VI I vragu ponyne snitsja Dožd svincovyj i gustoj Bojevaja kolesnica, Pulemjotčik molodoj. Pripev: Eh, tačanka-poltavčanka, Naša gordostj i krasa, Pulemjotnaja tačanka, Vse četyre kolesa! 1 [tɨ lʲɪˈtʲi‿z‿dɐˈroɡʲɪ | ˈptʲitsə |] [zvʲerʲ | z‿dɐˈroɡʲɪ ʊxɐˈdʲi ‖] [ˈvʲidʲɪʂ | ˈobɫəkə kɫʊˈbʲitsːə |] [ˈkonʲɪ ˈmtɕatsːə f⁽ʲ⁾pʲɪrʲɪˈdʲi ‖] 2 [i‿s‿nɐˈlʲɵtə | s‿pəvɐˈrotə |] [pɐ‿ˈtsɛpʲɪ vrɐˈɡov‿ɡʊˈstoj] [zɐˈstrotɕɪt is‿pʊlʲɪˈmʲɵtə] [pʊlʲɪˈmʲɵtɕːɪk məɫɐˈdoj ‖] [prʲɪˈpʲef]: [ɛx | tɐˈtɕankə rəstɐfˈtɕankə |] [ˈnaʂə ˈgordəsʲtʲ i‿krɐˈsa |] [kənɐrˈmʲejskəjə tɐˈtɕankə |] [fsʲe tɕɪˈtɨrʲɪ kəlʲɪˈsa ‖] 3 [ɛx | zɐ‿ˈvoɫgəj i zɐ‿ˈdonəm] [ˈmtɕaɫs⁽ʲ⁾ə ˈsʲtʲep⁽ʲ⁾jʊ zəlɐˈtoj] [zəɡɐˈrʲeɫɨj | zəpɨˈlʲɵnɨj] [pʊlʲɪˈmʲɵtɕːɪk məɫɐˈdoj ‖] 4 [i nʲɪˈsɫasʲ nʲɪʊdʲɪrˈʐɨmə] [z‿ˈɡrʲivəj ˈrɨʐɨvə kɐˈnʲa] [ˈɡrʲivə ˈvʲetrə | ˈɡrʲivə ˈdɨmə |] [ˈɡrʲivə ˈburʲɪ i‿ɐɡnʲa ‖] [prʲɪˈpʲef]: [ɛx | tɐˈtɕankə kʲɪ(j)ɪˈvlʲankə |] [ˈnaʂə ˈgordəsʲtʲ i‿krɐˈsa |] [kəmsɐˈmolʲskəjə tɐˈtɕankə |] [fsʲe tɕɪˈtɨrʲɪ kəlʲɪˈsa ‖] 5 [pə‿zʲɪˈmlʲe ɡrɐˈxotɕʊt ˈtankʲɪ |] [səmɐˈlʲɵtɨ pʲɪtˈlʲi v⁽ʲ⁾jut | [ə‿bʊˈdʲɵnːəfskəj tɐˈtɕankʲɪ] [v‿ˈnʲebʲe ˈlʲɵtɕːɪkʲɪ pɐˈjut ‖] 6' [i‿vrɐˈgu pɐˈnɨnʲe ˈsʲnʲitsːə] [doʂtʲ svʲɪnˈtsovɨj i gʊˈstoj] [bə(j)ɪˈvajə kəlʲɪsʲˈnʲitsə |] [pʊlʲɪˈmʲɵtɕːɪk məɫɐˈdoj ‖] [prʲɪˈpʲef]: [ɛx | tɐˈtɕankə pəɫtɐfˈtɕankə |] [ˈnaʂə ˈgordəsʲtʲ i‿krɐˈsa |] [pʊlʲɪˈmʲɵtnəjə tɐˈtɕankə |] [fsʲe tɕɪˈtɨrʲɪ kəlʲɪˈsa ‖] | I Bird, fly from the road, and quickly! Better hurry or you're dead! See that dust cloud coming thickly, Horses charging far ahead! II Blasting, turning, fire pouring, into crowds of enemies! His machine gun rattling, roaring, our young gunner clears the fields! Chorus: Hey Tachanka gun from Rostov, You're our joy and you're our pride! Red cavalry gun-carts blast off, Four wheels whirring as they ride! III We crossed the Don after the Volga, Through the golden steppe so free! Tanned, and dusty our young gunner, Blasted through our enemy! IV As, unstoppable and mighty, Like the manes of our wild steeds, Manes of wind, smoke, storm, and fire, Slice our land like wind through reeds! Chorus: Hey Tachanka gun from Kiev, You're our joy and you're our pride! The Red youth army's gun-carts racing, Four wheels whirring as they ride! V Up above our soaring pilots, Seek the enemy on high. Looking down they see Tachanka And salute you from the sky. VI In the fields our tanks are rumbling, See the foe is on the run. Forward then Tachanka, With each bullet from your gun. Chorus: Hey Tachanka gun from Poltava! You're our joy and you're our pride! Red cavalry gun-carts, fire! Four wheels whirring as they ride! |