| 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 |