Текст песни Пятилетка - Цыганочка

It rolls grief in its native side
To disturb before going to bed soak up blood.
You - amnesty and pestilence, you - to the "edren" of the mother, -
Orthodox or thief - all one - on the porch!

Life, she is a trifle
Not divided into three
Eh - not a bottle, not a glass, -
not divided into three!
Not mooing, not calving, -
And besides, I’m not stolen,
and given by fate!

In a clean field - two columns, on top - a crossbar!
What a tavern, and what a hut - all one - with security.

Clutch my foul life harder into a fist.
From birth given to me
Well why be sad
That she is always alone
Eh always ends.

So sing on a half-stand
About love for gypsy
Know - on her heart
Not a single frontier
Speak beauty
What do not you like
In a short time already
There is no time to correct.

Losing

To breathe deeply to the strength of the wounded gyrfalcon,
Anyway, what kind of power, if they hang in the evening.

Crescents, crosses,
Asian songs ...
Hey Russia, where are you?
Not how not to understand me!
Here the day ends
But the night does not begin.
Do not even go to church to repent of everything!

No life she is not stolen
But fate is given
In the morning in the field - two pillars, on top - the crossbar!