| Composer: Andrey Danilko
|
| In the matter of love, who am I? |
| I am the first conductor.
|
| And I don't need any rank.
|
| The main thing is what? |
| What would arise in life
|
| A real man.
|
| I know that today you will enter my carriage,
|
| You bang in the vestibule quietly with the door.
|
| And call me in front of everyone
|
| With my little Verka.
|
| Chorus: 2 times
|
| I was born for love
|
| There is fire in the soul, and mimosa in the hands.
|
| Well, where are you, my young peony.
|
| Your May rose is waiting for you.
|
| Quietly the wheels knock on the rails, knock-knock,
|
| Making me sad for no reason.
|
| To live without a man is tea without sugar.
|
| Well, where are you wandering my man.
|
| I know that today you will enter my carriage,
|
| You bang in the vestibule quietly with the door.
|
| And call me in front of everyone
|
| With my little Verka.
|
| Chorus: 2 times
|
| I was born for love
|
| There is fire in the soul, and mimosa in the hands.
|
| Well, where are you, my young peony.
|
| Your May rose is waiting for you.
|
| Rose
|
| We are born for love
|
| We are born for love
|
| Rose
|
| We are born for love
|
| We are born for love
|
| In the matter of love, who am I? |
| I am the first conductor.
|
| Oh, I don't need any rank.
|
| The main thing is what? |
| What would arise in life
|
| A real man.
|
| I know that today you will enter my carriage,
|
| You bang in the vestibule quietly with the door.
|
| And call me in front of everyone
|
| With my little Verka.
|
| I was born for love
|
| There is fire in the soul, and mimosa in the hands.
|
| Well, where are you, my young peony.
|
| Your May rose is waiting for you.
|
| I was born for love
|
| There is fire in the soul, and mimosa in the hands.
|
| Well, where are you, my young peony.
|
| Your May Day is waiting for you...
|
| I was born for love
|
| There is fire in the soul, and mimosa in the hands.
|
| Well, where are you, my young peony.
|
| Your May rose is waiting for you.
|
| I was born for love
|
| There is fire in the soul, and mimosa in the hands.
|
| Well, where are you, my young peony.
|
| Your May rose is waiting for you.
|
| We are born for love |