Текст песни Петр Пирожков - Про колхоз Гумозятино

White Lysin, on the legs one trite
This guy lives in the village
chasing on the tractor
1000 legends go about him
He is not God and not president
From the usual he is a caste
which has no special roles
And his name is Peter Pies

In the garden for 20 hours
Work without any reasons.
Collective farm young business
Medicine against wrinkles.
Black black dirt
An hour later, it rocked her
Through two sprouts planted,
Through three rains watered
And plowed by all collective farms

And we know that it is soon,
What kind of potatoes go we plant
Again, 20 hours a day we will plow
And who to die young.
Who does not know the word forgive, "
Who does not remember good and reasons.
Who is able to go to the world,
Not knowing that this is all dream,
And fall, from hitting the temple
From the collective farm!