Текст песни Ростислав Чебыкин - Вот помру я

But I die, I will die, I stop living,
I stop playing, stop singing.
People gather to drink at a wake -
Everyone I when life could not tolerate.

Will cry, cry, sparing no effort,
There are tales of composing my life -
Like, I'm so cool, and he was a good,
What probably I envied himself.

During the inheritance of my boils romp
Fans gather for my wall
A bunch of songs stolen from me,
By mistake, I will attribute back.

It will be an eternal flame, smoke will be eternal,
It will be the name of the bow so, and that.
The pope will appoint me a saint:
The icon - my face and in his mouth - a joint.

I then finally rising up,
All know, understand and leave so
Laugh at yourself, I regret all
Conversely rozhus multiply mess.

Death - just a mistake, and the right to life.
All of us - a coin in the hands of fate.
And on my grave rustle in the grass,
On the grave of my sprout mushrooms ...