| open doors
|
| Hospitals, gendarmerie -
|
| The thread is stretched to the limit,
|
| french demons -
|
| big boobies,
|
| But they also know how to circle.
|
| I somewhere for sure - inherited -
|
| I foresee the consequences:
|
| The demon drove me today
|
| Through the city of Paris,
|
| Buzzed: “Drink a glass!
|
| Listen to the guitars!"
|
| Dragged around Russian taverns,
|
| Where are the Hungarians and the Bulgarians.
|
| I rushed to nature, to the forest,
|
| I wanted into the grass and into the water, -
|
| But it was a French demon:
|
| He didn't like nature.
|
| We - like escaping from prison -
|
| Lead anywhere -
|
| We got drunk and sober
|
| Always in sequence.
|
| And the demon drove, and we sang,
|
| And wept freely.
|
| And my friend is a genius of all time,
|
| The madman and the rake, -
|
| When he was conscious -
|
| Saddled a lame demon.
|
| Sober, he got up under the shower,
|
| Eliminating lethargy -
|
| And the demon of our Russian souls
|
| Couldn't be killed.
|
| And what my friend did -
|
| From God, not from a demon, -
|
| He was of coarse grinding,
|
| Cool was a mess.
|
| You can't check it inside
|
| Neither sharp nor heavy
|
| Although it is completely fenced
|
| Hostile stockade.
|
| Drink - our drunken minds
|
| They considered it a matter of blood, -
|
| What did we say
|
| Both right and guilty!
|
| The thread broke - and rushed -
|
| Save our skins!
|
| Hospitals cried for us
|
| Also prefectures.
|
| We climbed to the devil in bondage,
|
| With grenades - under tanks, -
|
| Tears glistened on the floor,
|
| And the francs faded in them.
|
| The gypsies sang to us about the shawl
|
| And they rocked with violins -
|
| They poured melancholy-sadness into us, -
|
| We are up to our necks in sorrow.
|
| Moisture was already pouring out of the ears -
|
| All nonsense, more stupid than nonsense, -
|
| But violins again this scum
|
| Pushed into souls.
|
| Armenians in bracelets and earrings
|
| Caviar was fed somewhere
|
| And my friend in black boots -
|
| Shot from a pistol.
|
| The veins are swollen, and in the blood
|
| clots formed,
|
| And the demon, who was sitting vis-a-vis,
|
| Chuckled in French.
|
| Everything in this life is vanity,
|
| Don't care about prefectures!
|
| My friend signed bills
|
| And handed out banknotes.
|
| Open doors
|
| Hospitals, gendarmerie -
|
| The thread is stretched to the limit,
|
| french demons -
|
| Such boobies! |
| -
|
| But they also know how to circle. |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Французские бесы , by - Владимир Высоцкий. Song from the album Владимир Высоцкий в записях Михаила Шемякина. Часть 2, in the genre Русская авторская песня