Текст песни Трофим - Мой дикий ангел

Remove the coat, Monsieur Onegin,
Pick up a gun.
Worthless thrilled at the sad bliss,
When the country is waiting for the heroes.
And we boyfriend were once
To hang, dandies in C Major.
But the new century
As we shot at point blank range.
Some are not, and those - far away,
We live out of spite more.
And every day under a volley of grapeshot
His Fatherland sing.
In a country where life forges consciousness
A mat - the language of the masses,
Poetry -
No more than a farce.
Chorus:
My wild angel in camouflage
With the barrel at the ready,
Flies, howl in afterburner,
Two of the dogs across the path.
And we are living without knowing the measure,
And this is not our fault.
Blowing up the elite of his premiere,
We play it are doomed.
And our women are accustomed
Aging is not waiting for us,
Forgiving our lives
At that time.
Chorus.
What whim of the outcome of the days
Find the way any good.
For drop illusory freedom
We do a sip of poison.
But we have a boyfriend yet afford
To stand and fight for their own.
Monsieur Onegin,
Where's your gun?
Chorus.