Текст песни Ольга Чикина - Что вам подать

What do you feed, Siberian Ile Maders,
My poor friend without money and wife?
With such a face you are no longer the first
And with this sensation of the country.

You are not one who here so much smokes,
Scolding the one that is always.
What roses were this fool!
How, my poor, were you then!

And I am not that. I only spill.
I just expect silence.
My poor, I'm not so much.
My poor, do not remove the same pants.

Arrange my cat on your knees
And we will be cute and easy.
About not refrigerate bitter reflections
About what all you are assholes.