| Dear transmission!
|
| Almost crying on Saturday
|
| the whole Kanatchikova Dacha
|
| rushed to the TV.
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| Instead of eating, washing,
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| there it is, prick and forget, -
|
| all crazy hospital
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| gathered at the screens.
|
| He spoke, wringing his hands,
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| rhetoric and troublemaker:
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| about the impotence of science
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| before the mystery of Bermuda.
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| All brains smashed to pieces
|
| braided all the twists,
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| and ropeway authorities
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| give us a second injection.
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| Dear editor!
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| Maybe better about the reactor,
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| there, about your favorite lunar tractor?
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| After all, it’s impossible, a year in a row -
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| That plates scare,
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| they say, vile, fly, -
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| then you have dogs barking,
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| then the ruins speak.
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| We have mastered something -
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| we beat the plates all year round,
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| we already ate a dog on them,
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| if the cook does not lie to us.
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| And piles of medicines -
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| we are in the toilet, who is not a fool.
|
| This is life!
|
| And suddenly Bermuda.
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| Here are those times.
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| It can't be like that!
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| We did not make a scandal -
|
| we were missing a leader.
|
| There are few real violent ones -
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| here and there are no leaders.
|
| But for machinations and nonsense
|
| we have networks and nonsense,
|
| and not spoil our lunch
|
| evil machinations of enemies!
|
| These are their thin devils |
| muddy the water in the pond,
|
| Churchill came up with this
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| in the eighteenth year.
|
| We are talking about explosions, about fires
|
| composed a TASS note,
|
| but the orderlies rushed
|
| and fixed us.
|
| Those who were especially fierce,
|
| screwed to the backs of the beds,
|
| fought in the foam paranoid,
|
| like a witcher at a coven:
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| "Untie the towels,
|
| infidels, savages,
|
| we are heartbroken
|
| and Bermuth at heart!
|
| Forty souls to fight in shifts,
|
| blazed hot.
|
| How much to worry
|
| triangular cases!
|
| Almost everyone went crazy
|
| even who was insane,
|
| and then the head physician Margulis
|
| TV banned.
|
| There he is, the snake, looming in the window,
|
| behind the back hides the plug.
|
| He gave a sign to someone, so
|
| paramedic, pull out the wires.
|
| And what is left for us, to inject
|
| and fall to the bottom of the well
|
| and there is an abyss at the bottom of the well,
|
| like in Bermuda, forever.
|
| Well, tomorrow the children will ask
|
| visiting us in the morning:
|
| "Dads, what did these
|
| doctoral candidates?
|
| We will open to our children
|
| the truth, they don't care
|
| we'll say:
|
| "Amazing near,
|
| but it is forbidden!”
|
| There is a home-based dentist Rudik,
|
| Iago has a Grundig receiver, |
| "Voices" for thousands of miles.
|
| We do not silence America in vain,
|
| Oh, in vain we do not crush Israel:
|
| With all its hostile essence
|
| Undermine and harm -
|
| Feed, sing us bermoutia
|
| About the mysterious square!
|
| lecturer from the program
|
| Those who somehow
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| Talk about failure
|
| And make people nervous
|
| Take us, the doomed, -
|
| Triangle of you scientists
|
| Turns into insane
|
| Well, we are the opposite.
|
| Let the crazy idea
|
| you do not cut in haste!
|
| call us soon
|
| through the bastard head physician.
|
| Yours faithfully. |
| Date, signature...
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| Answer us, otherwise
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| if you don't respond
|
| we will write to Sportloto. |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Письмо в редакцию телевизионной передачи «Очевидное-невероятное» из сумасшедшего дома – с Канатчиковой дачи , by - Владимир Высоцкий.