Текст песни АнЖ - Пугачёв

Over boundless Russia, shackles ring
This convicts are being persecuted, not returning to them back;
The nightingales sing sad songs to them,
From captivity to freedom of the steppe their name is.

But one escaped on the way to the prison
He found friends and shelter in the Don;
He was wearing an expensive caftan,
The man’s name was Pugachev Emelyan.

See the marks?
I am the king, Peter the Third.

Hey, get up, the people cried,
We will sharpen axes on gentlemen;
Pugachev will rule us,
Our native Russian Cossack.

And the grass grew Pugachev’s army,
Those who bent their backs began to rebel;
If anyone offends our Russian people,
Just call, Pugachev will come.

See the marks?
I am the king, Peter the Third.

Hey, get up, the people cried,
We will sharpen axes on gentlemen;
Pugachev will rule us,
Our native Russian Cossack.