In that song everything had a place.

By "everything" I mean both the various encouraging and stimulating cries with which Russian folk urge on their horses, and a random, unpremeditated selection of adjectives.
Meanwhile Chichikov began to notice that the britchka was swaying violently, and dealing him occasional bumps.

Consequently he suspected that it had left the road and was being dragged over a ploughed field.
Upon Selifan's mind there appeared to have dawned a similar inkling, for he had ceased to hold forth.
"You rascal, what road are you following ?" inquired Chichikov.
"I don't know," retorted the coachman.

"What can a man do at a time of night when the darkness won't let him even see his whip ?" And as Selifan spoke the vehicle tilted to an angle which left Chichikov no choice but to hang on with hands and teeth.

At length he realised the fact that Selifan was drunk.
"Stop, stop, or you will upset us!" he shouted to the fellow.
"No, no, barin," replied Selifan.