Now the thunder of shells, then the sound of castanets
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And only the weak, friend, there is no place here
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"Viva la revolucion" - guitar sings
|
Viva comandante Che Guevara
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Serpent:
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Everything froze until dawn, the order is not to go anywhere
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It’s as if we are not here, but at the same time we are here
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In this nest we can sit stupidly all day
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Stupidly idle, here, in addition to everything, it’s gloomy everywhere,
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And at night we drive sadness, only tea warms
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While we listen to how this jungle is silent
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There are a hundred of us here desperate, ready to cut from the shoulder
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Stop! |
Who goes? |
Answer!
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Hey, what are you? |
And, this is your own, with parcels
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With spoons, forks, mugs, plates, bottles
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The nearest village gives us all the rubbish.
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Everything will be useful to us, because we even sleep on trees!
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Today everyone wants freedom, truth. |
I want too,
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Therefore, I'm sticking out here on the very tonsils
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There is no news from the brides,
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Instead of them, Ernesto Che And he, at times, is harsher than Pinochet himself
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I know why we spent so many days and nights here
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For the moment to hit the enemy right in the skull
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Che's time is soon, now is the calm before the storm
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We rejoice at the parcels, we sit like mice, we smoke |
Hamil:
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Tourniquets, ointments and bandages were found in the new package.
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Our recruits will live
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And for me - what is more important than any plaster -
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Blank paper and seven simple felt-tip pens
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I draw my home every day
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And the fighters are sad, they look with their mouths open
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I save every color like a cartridge,
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And when they run out of alcohol, I will pour rum into them
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There's nothing but boredom in this hole, brother
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you need something to do with your hands, I'm a local Rembrandt here
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My drawings hang in the jungle wherever you step
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Our squad rejoices, enemies are angry,
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And if my blood suddenly becomes the eighth color
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Maybe I won't live to see next winter
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Let our executioners remember later
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Home is where freedom is, freedom is where home is
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Now the thunder of shells, then the sound of castanets
|
And only the weak, friend, there is no place here
|
"Viva la revolucion" - guitar sings
|
Viva comandante Che Guevara
|
Noggano:
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Fragments in meat, crushed bones
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Companeras, you'd better leave me here
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Come on, we'll take you to the hospital and after
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We will visit with senoritas
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Eh, war, cannon balls, nuclear cigarettes |
Ernest, what kind of hospital is here, this is an island
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Calm down, your salvation for us is a matter of spirituality,
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And the fact that there is no hospital, so it will be built
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That's what he said, bitch, in our
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It doesn't matter where and where to fuck, the main thing is to fuck
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It doesn't matter where to die, if only not from old age
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I say: there is a village, where the reed is earing
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Four huts, in the center there is an old man by the fire.
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We have a wounded man here, padre. |
Do you have bandages?
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There are no bandages, let's better raise
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I, they say, what kind of smoke, father? |
Have a shame
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I see the heroic mood in muchachs has cooled down
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You don't care about amputation and crutches,
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And in the worst case, we would not have informed you anyway
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So Vasily, not Ramsey. |
Got it?
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Meanwhile, grandpa from the gun barrel
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Made a badass bulbik
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I thought so: if you die, then not from a bullet
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Well, Ernest, Fidel, Dunem? |
grandpa blowing
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After the fifth round, people poured out of the huts
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For acquaintance circle, guitar in hand
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From somewhere, shrouded in smoke, a voodoo shaman fell out
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Like, everything will be good, I will treat a friend
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That's just a dunu
|
the shaman blew and immediately gave the oak
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Fidel, Ernest, cheer up the muddy one, let him conjure, |