A boyar was a member of the highest rank of the feudal Bulgarian, Moscovian, Kievan Rus'ian, Wallachian, and Moldavian aristocracies, second only to the ruling princes (in Bulgaria, tsars), from the 10th century to the 17th century. The rank has lived on as a surname in Russia, Ukraine and Romania, and also in Finland, where it is spelled Pajari.
Also known as bolyar, the words various names in other languages include Bulgarian: боляр or болярин; Ukrainian: буй or боярин; Russian: боя́рин, tr. boyarin; IPA: [bɐˈjærʲɪn]; Romanian: boier, IPA: [boˈjer]; and Greek: βογιάρος,
The word is likely derived from the plural form of the Bulgarian title boila ("noble"), bolyare, which is attested in Bulgar inscriptions and rendered as boilades or boliades in the Greek of Byzantine documents. Multiple different derivation theories of the word have been suggested by scholars and linguists, such as it having possible roots from old Turkic: bai ("noble, rich"; cf. "bey") and är ("man, men"). Another possible etymology of the term it may come from the Romanian word "boi" (bulls); a rich man is an owner of bulls or "boier". The title entered Old Russian as быля (bylya, attested solely in The Tale of Igor's Campaign).
Tomorrow's coming 'round
A hair-pin curve in the road
She's got a run in her stocking
And she's missing the heel of her shoe
Got up this morning rolled out of bed
I spilled a diet coke
Called my mother said, "Hi"
What I meant to say was, "Why is your life a joke?"
Then, I went down to that ugly bar and
I clicked my heels three times just like you said
And I climbed that road to your empty house
The anticipation was a turn on
But you let me down
'Coz, I stood on that empty street alone
I said, "I'm ready for my close up now, Mr. Demille"
I waited for the light, but it never shone
Well I wonder what you do with that expensive piece of land
That overlooks a billion years of history
I have a sneaking suspicion, you will never understand
Hey maybe I'll see you down by the Rocky and Bullwinkle
And we can talk to that charlatan psychic
And she can paint a prettier picture of your future
'Coz that day in my life, that day in my life
I dreamt tomorrow, had a prettier face
I dreamt tomorrow, would have better things to say
Than, "You look like shit, what's your problem, bitch?
You're legs feel like sandpaper, you can't do anything right"
'Coz that day, never should have taken place
'Coz this day, in my life still cannot explain
Why I listened in the first place to you?
Oh yeah, something else
I hope one day you call up your father
And you have the guts to tell him, how he hurt you
And he made you hurt another