They are drawing the people to their south to the golden shores.
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Where you can lie down all day and sunbathe upside down.
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And they go there in droves to get healthy and lose weight, rejuvenate their years,
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see a thousand wonders
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The milkmaid and the chief accountant, the writer, the cook and the assistant professor, as well as the crowds of our whores and
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criminal element.
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The milkmaid hurries to rest with a running start in the sea to flounder,
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Forget about your cows, from drunken husband's fists,
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And also from your worries, which are always a whole house, to breathe from a thousand troubles,
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to return to them later,
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At least a month in life to rest and lie down to take a tan, to fall asleep without a drunken husband,
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don't smell the fumes.
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The chief accountant hurries to drink wine, he is swollen from his papers,
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He stole too much, he dreamed of his yugas,
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To ride a taxi, lose poker all evening, doorman to cap
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brought and to sleep with the young,
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To eat and drink one cognac, barbecue and other yum-yum, have breakfast on
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a quarter and skip one hundred grams at night.
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The stagnation of writer's ideas told him - come on!
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The writer pulled up his pants, waved to the south for the muse,
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Behind its inspiration, behind its creative thought forward, the south is unique in its beauty,
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the soul plays and sings
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The poet scribbles verses pegasus temples, here is a fool when he hears a verse at night,
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where he will sit down for a novel.
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Associate professors, cooks with them, well, it’s time for them to go south,
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Give the brain a break from the days of the kitchen, and rush to others.
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One with a beautiful wife in exactly the same Zhiguli, the other with his wife - but a stranger,
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oh, they will walk in the south!
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Soon forty-one, his wife is not even half, the other, and everyone will understand him - well, who
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did not cheat on his wife?
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South-south, there are so many whores, the chief accountant is not indifferent to them
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And even if you are wearing a coat, pay - they will serve you from and to.
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There, prostitutes from Moscow will dance the tango without pants, from Vladivostok and the Neva,
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and there are plenty of Tver prostitutes.
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And they go to Sochi, Tuapse and they are waiting for meetings in Lazarevsky, and even these, like everyone else,
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what they sing about the moon
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And maybe someday I'll go from "la" to the note "mi" not in the genre of singing,
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and rest with your beloved wife and children. |