| No extra long lines needed | 
| I'll tell you for the burqa | 
| Hold tight mothers of daughters | 
| I am writing a song about spring | 
| my favorite guitar | 
| My best friend in this business | 
| She roar like Niagara | 
| And groans like a peasant plow | 
| Let me be made of gold and bread, | 
| But what did the years give me? | 
| As soon as the "turnip" became wider | 
| And the beard became thicker | 
| I learned to cry less | 
| I became satisfied with the course of days | 
| Those who opened the heavenly valve | 
| Get longer in the spring | 
| Chorus: The days are getting longer | 
| The days are getting longer | 
| The days are getting longer | 
| And the skirts are shorter. | 
| The days are getting longer | 
| The days are getting longer | 
| The days are getting longer | 
| And the skirts are shorter. | 
| Alena became a warehouse legend | 
| On the minus first floor | 
| The navel is not enough for happiness | 
| Lish would be Zhora in the garage | 
| Belov Andryusha is now a rapper | 
| What else can be said here? | 
| And I am an exhausted protector | 
| Labor on the road to Ryazan | 
| There among the pines on the mound | 
| Petrovich lies for two hundred days | 
| He came closer to his mother | 
| Closer to your homeland | 
| But not maternally | 
| Sometimes her whip danced | 
| So how is it not swearing here | 
| And how can you not swear here | 
| A biting wind blows through the window | 
| Warm, open soul | 
| There is a "gerl" at the crossroads | 
| Oh my God ! | 
| How good! | 
| She attracts the sun | 
| And the looks of greedy guys | 
| And the month of May laughs excitedly | 
| And the days are getting longer | 
| Chorus. | 
| And let him not drive into battle today | 
| And let it fall asleep today | 
| And Pupo does not sing "about Monya" | 
| And I, less and less often, "Polygon" | 
| And let the "Green Cape" destroyed | 
| And washed away like last year's snow, | 
| But we will find a square on land | 
| Where Oleg will surprise us. | 
| I improved life as best I could | 
| Changing both shoes and clothes | 
| And the house is almost completed | 
| There are windows and a fence | 
| But, unfortunately, you can't shoot | 
| Traces of past years from the face | 
| And you won't raise from the grave | 
| Already neither grandfather nor father | 
| I wrote a cheerful song | 
| I don't know - did it work? | 
| But from a set of nonsense | 
| The wheels took me out | 
| And rolled along the asphalt | 
| Faster than Zeus's horses | 
| Between spring ringing weddings | 
| Where the days are getting longer |