| Without prohibitions and traces, | 
| On asphalt burning tires, | 
| From the nightmare of cities | 
| Cars are rushing out of the city, | 
| And bulky like tanks | 
| Fords, Lincolns, Seleniums, | 
| elegant mustangs, | 
| Mercedes, Citroen. | 
| As if they know - the game is worth the candle, | 
| It will be like a blood feud against the cities! | 
| Hurry, just don't burn the candles, | 
| Carburetor, and what else do they have in there. | 
| And the canvas is not visible, | 
| Limousines, limousines... | 
| Among them, like two spots, | 
| Two beautiful cars | 
| As if tied with a rope | 
| (And where it is thin, it breaks there). | 
| Accelerators, suction | 
| There is no more business. | 
| As if they know - the game is worth the candle, | 
| If only to break out - they will pay all the bills. | 
| Well, maybe he will give her a speech | 
| On the klaxon, and what else do they have there. | 
| It's a bunch of cars | 
| Holds a grudge against you. | 
| Light gray limousine! | 
| Don't lose sight of her! | 
| Ahead - look - a junction! | 
| More risk, more faith! | 
| You'll be late! | 
| And there is… | 
| You procrastinated, light grey! | 
| They knew - the game is worth the candle, | 
| And now - what are the billboards honking? | 
| Well, maybe the mountain is off his shoulders | 
| Or from the hood, and what else they have there. | 
| No, the fork is like trouble, | 
| Arrows apart - and you are not here. | 
| Really never | 
| Do the crossings bring us closer? | 
| This one converges, one | 
| And, turning on the seventh speed, | 
| Light gray limousine | 
| Forgot to hit the brakes. | 
| Well, move in, empty dreams? | 
| Or is it a blood feud against the cities? | 
| Rolled wheels, bridges | 
| And hearts, or whatever else they have in there. |