| This song is about the cottage again,
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| It's very crappy in the city in summer.
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| It's hot and stuffy, and you can't sleep,
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| Well, not life, but just horror!
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| Chorus:
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| And in the country, and in the country,
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| Everything is different, everything is fucked up.
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| And in the country, and in the country,
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| Everything is different, everything is fucked up.
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| The women used to dig potatoes,
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| Looks like they've mellowed out a bit now.
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| They felt sorry for us, men,
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| You can sleep and go fishing.
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| Chorus:
|
| And in the country, and in the country,
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| Everything is different, everything is fucked up.
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| And in the country, and in the country,
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| Everything is different, everything is fucked up.
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| When we turned thirty
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| Relax, as they say.
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| But at the dacha we can tear a shirt,
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| Show with gray hairy chest.
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| Chorus:
|
| And in the country, and in the country,
|
| Everything is different, everything is fucked up.
|
| And in the country, and in the country,
|
| Everything is different, everything is fucked up.
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| I'm dying at work
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| Then I thump, then vomit,
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| I will come home, and you are at home,
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| Fried eggs, telly, geranium flowers.
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| It will be summer, let's go to the country,
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| There everything is f*cking and f*cking,
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| There is no x * I in my life,
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| This, like his, happiness.
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| Chorus:
|
| And in the country, and in the country,
|
| Everything is different, everything is fucked up.
|
| And in the country, and in the country,
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| Everything is different, everything is fucked up. |