| Through these dead fields
|
| On our beaten "Nivas" -
|
| Pedals to the floor
|
| fountain from under the wheels! ..
|
| (Extreme! Extreme!)
|
| Smoking a cigar, sliding in a purple Ferrari
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| on the autobahn route Genoa-Rome,
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| must be cool;
|
| But you and I chose a different fate:
|
| our choice is Russian extreme!
|
| (Extreme! Extreme!)
|
| And if they ask what profit we have in this,
|
| and if they say: "Smarter to do something else",
|
| then we won’t even raise an eyebrow in response -
|
| we will just keep doing this Russian extreme!
|
| Through these dead fields (Extreme!)
|
| On our beaten "Nivas" (Extreme!)
|
| Pedals to the floor
|
| fountain from under the wheels! .. (Extreme!)
|
| Everything is ours forever (Extreme!)
|
| Forward while we are alive (Extreme!)
|
| From pit to ditch
|
| from slope to slope!
|
| Now stones, then water,
|
| Now clay, now nettles,
|
| All ours forever
|
| Forward while we're alive...
|
| So it is, but that's not the point at all,
|
| I just remember that hot day at the end of summer,
|
| A friend says: "Sell the apartment, let's get out of here",
|
| and I thought and said: “You know, I won’t do that”;
|
| this is how I have been floundering since then in the native thicket,
|
| kind of hoping to make life at least a little better -
|
| it turned out that the problem is much more serious: just turn around -
|
| get stuck in blood or dung.
|
| And a friend lives in Florida, in general, lives well;
|
| writes that he sowed the plot in front of the house with peas,
|
| in order, as in the village, in childhood, to peel it with your hands -
|
| what is this life doing to us, huh?.. |