Hi Greg, that's not the way I used to sing it, but there's the folk process for you......

Corrected version as I used to sing it - memory gradually returns - except that I've incorporated your moujik; although it's not from me, it certainly makes good sense. No idea what a gorshky is: Wikipedia lists a number of villages etc called Gorski, but rightly or wrongly I always assumed it was just a pseudo-Russian nonsense term.


The borscht no longer bubbles in the gorschkies
The samovar does not boil so loud and free
The moujiks bow their leedle heads in sorrow
For love has gone from Olga…
   … and from me.

Olga was a true Siberian maiden
She was luscious, in a luscious Russian way
She used to take me punting on the Wolga
Now Olga's in the Wolga for to stay.

My friends they used to say I was a sadist
I used to pluck the wings from leedle flies
But that was till I met my daaarling Olga
And saw the masochism in her eyes.

How tenderly she'd whisper "Sergei, beat me!"
Into her eyes there came a Russian glow
How tenderly she'd whisper "Sergei, wheep me!"
But I, her love, would only answer No.

It was cruel being kind to leedle Olga
At times it made me sad, I must confess
So when one night she whispered "Sergei... DROWN me!"
I smiled a Russian smile and answered Yes.

…………….

[pianissimo:]
The borscht no longer bubbles in the gorschkies
The samovar does not boil so loud and free
The moujiks bow their leedle heads in sorrow
For love has gone from Olga…
   … and from me.