And how many days - not measured - have passed since that day,
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How my mother accompanied me to the highway.
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And how we walked hand in hand with her, and the rain was drizzling,
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And how the driver slowed down his passing.
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Chorus:
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Oh, you're a ride, a ride,
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Where are you from and where?
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Oh, you're a ride, a ride,
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My first trouble!
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My first trouble!
|
My first trouble!
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We are driving as expected, talking nonsense!
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And I, they say, to Sokolniki, and there I will get off.
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And he keeps moving forward, my passing driver,
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And I see: our motor is pulling to the side of the road.
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Chorus:
|
Oh, you're a ride, a ride,
|
Where are you from and where?
|
Oh, you're a ride, a ride,
|
My first trouble!
|
My first trouble!
|
My first trouble!
|
And I told him: "Let's go!" |
And he: "No gasoline!"
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And it's raining from the sky, and I'm seventeen years old!
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And then he cut out the headlights, And close - not a fire,
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And ran over me with black wheels!
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Chorus:
|
Oh, you're a ride, a ride,
|
Where are you from and where?
|
Oh, you're a ride, a ride,
|
My first trouble!
|
My first trouble!
|
My first trouble!
|
Oh, you're a ride, a ride,
|
Where are you from and where?
|
Oh, you're a ride, a ride,
|
My first trouble!
|
My first trouble!
|
My first trouble! |