Текст песни Сергей Трофимов - Эмигрантский романс

And I would have to drop everything, go to Canada
There, where the Indians mopped jambs
And grab your chest charge
Forever getting rid of Russian longing

   Forever getting rid of sticky fear
   That you are indifferent to your beloved country
   It’s better to die for the Navajo tribe
   With a dumb tomahawk in a stooped back

It’s better to forget yourself in a rough wigwam
Inconvenience to indian life
Than to think about people shitting in the temple
And those who pray to God to restore purity

   Forget the dry, two-faced satraps,
   What are waiting for husbands to treat prostatitis.
   I would send these satraps to the Gestapo,
   Where the fascist Wahhabi wanders with a dracoli.

Oh how hopeless, funny and ridiculous
Dream of freedom for the Russian soul
And hear the answers of the harsh State Departments -
Like, all of you scum, thieves, drunks

   Canada, Canada, let it get warm
   Outcast rogues, fragments of Russia
   We are also Indians, we have nowhere to go
   And red faces from the age of thou ...