| I guess I was born like this
|
| In the village, in the village
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| I'm on a binge, I'm on a spree
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| I've been tipsy all my life
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| Only a glass is my joy
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| My life is a hangover dream
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| Vodka is my dear mother
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| native dad moonshine
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| It's not like that, it hurts my heart,
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| But the soul toils
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| Under a shirt
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| Wound up evil louse
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| My face, my document
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| Ausweis in Hebrew
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| Forgive me Russia
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| Don't piss me off Chubais
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| Don't fix me with a crowbar
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| And the rake cannot be cured
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| It's easier to be reborn
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| How to stop drinking
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| Oh how it hurts, oh how sad
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| After all, you dreamed of me
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| It looks like someone is driving sober.
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| Not mine, like on a horse
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| Maybe a miracle will happen
|
| After all, we have a wonderland
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| God appear from nowhere
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| The demon will step aside
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| Maybe another happiness
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| The Lord pours into glasses
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| Oh, Russia, mother Russia
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| Happy is he who drinks from grief
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| Happy is he who does not hurt
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| If you just don't care
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| If there is no faith in the heart
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| So why worry
|
| And who to pity, sorry
|
| As one poet said
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| If the homeland is Russia,
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| But in the soul of Russia there is no
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| If vodka is for the people
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| Like cognac for the elite
|
| So something is wrong here
|
| So something is wrong here
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| So Zhirinovsky was right
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| His father is a lawyer
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| Who was born a tractor driver
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| He will die like a tractor driver
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| Cranberries are too red today
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| It's hard to drink
|
| My boat without a leash
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| carried away with the current
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| Tractor stuck in the field
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| He has a dead engine
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| Why is it so hard to drink
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| That's what brothers bust |