| In the taxi depot everything is in the park, we drive the confusion away,
|
| Senya Pavlov did not return, he worked at night,
|
| Several hours passed after the shift,
|
| There is no car, there is no Canopy, they have made business.
|
| Maybe girls, maybe vodka, you never know what?
|
| He always traveled under a hundred, there was a little bit of that,
|
| In life, different things happen - I took a crazy order,
|
| There is no connection, and the boss is eating us all with the eyes.
|
| Chorus:
|
| The wind will touch the strings of wet wires,
|
| The door will slam and then the green eye will go out,
|
| Take care of yourself there among the roads,
|
| Protect the taxi driver from the ditches of the tracks.
|
| And the mechanic Pavel Kozin, it would be better not to breathe,
|
| Like about Senya - strict rules, who wouldn't know that,
|
| I recalled a case when I was carrying two types of Senya to Kazan,
|
| I remembered, well, it’s not easier for us - the situation is rubbish.
|
| Not in the summary, not in the hospital, at home too shish,
|
| Suddenly, trouble found a taxi driver, or are you naughty?
|
| Where are you Senya, Senya Pavlov light soul?
|
| The elder of the garage puts a tablet under his tongue.
|
| Chorus:
|
| The wind will touch the strings of wet wires,
|
| The door will slam and then the green eye will go out,
|
| Take care of yourself there among the roads,
|
| Protect the taxi driver from the ditches of the tracks.
|
| There is a call, the boss runs at a trot to the office,
|
| 205th kilometer, near the ditch bridge,
|
| we get to the place, there is no worse to wait ...
|
| here he is Senya, and the hilt is from the heart of a Finn.
|
| In, horrible, how is it, bastards, who could,
|
| Turn his road so from life to the side,
|
| And we honked sadly Senya,
|
| Under the klaxons, the farewell sound of all our taxis.
|
| Chorus:
|
| The wind will touch the strings of wet wires,
|
| The door will slam and then the green eye will go out,
|
| Take care of yourself there among the roads,
|
| Protect the taxi driver from the ditches of the tracks.
|
| The wind will touch the strings of wet wires,
|
| The door will slam and then the green eye will go out,
|
| Take care of yourself there among the roads,
|
| Protect the taxi driver from the ditches of the tracks. |