Текст песни ПЕТЛЮРА - Гитара семиструнная

Not the ringing guitar-string,
   And the ringing dubacheskih keys
   Grill and drank at will,
   To see his mother.
    
   Is my mother did not know,
   His darling son?
   As a teenager, I accompanied you,
   And will have to meet the old man.
    
   No ground buried I was not,
   Just to the land I was friends.
   Camp flour and convoys,
   Many, mother, grief experienced.
    
   Our camp will raise the alarm,
   On foot dressed shackles.
   And the guys go on the roads
   Our immense hand.
    
   So pour the same mother, bitter vodka
   Vodka I zalyu his sorrow,
   The camp will forget flour
   And about the song that I sing.
   The camp will forget flour
   And about the song that I sing.