Текст песни Трофим - Путеукладчица

She was a tracklayer
And also the salt of the whole earth.
And from Monday to Friday
I drove crutches into the sleepers.
With its seven-pound grace,
And also the generosity of the soul
She smashed all obstacles
In the taiga, northern wilderness.

There were gopniks in her brigade
And two shy scourges
Familiar with the work of Kropotkin,
Who screwed Ilyich
And at lunchtime, as a rule,
Scourges raised the question:
What made the proletarians
Derail the power?

In the crucible of these heated disputes,
She knew for the first time
That sex was invented by the communists
To knock the rush off the masses
And what a great Jewish conspiracy
Cut off the Russian ends.
In everything that great-grandfathers were so proud of,
And also grandfathers and fathers.

Especially upset by the opinion
That we have not been expected anywhere for a long time.
And the impression is made
That we get in the way here too.
Hence all the confusion
And brain inflammation.
And where to get money for treatment
Even Mayor Luzhkov does not know.

The crutch sparkled under the sledgehammer,
And the sleeper hooted back.
But my heart was not up to the holiday
From sad thoughts in my head.
Why am I stupid
For the tenth year I lay the way
If life is so unlucky
There's just nowhere to go