Текст песни Гарик Кричевский - Мой номер 245

Not abroad, not to Rome, not to Nice
Our train is leaving.
The strict guard does not sleep well, and the carriage shakes slightly.
Grass in my pocket, a letter for Tanya,
I'll sharpen it like a fakir.
Not to live in Sochi, but in Magadan, to jam not vodka, but chifir.

Chorus:
My number is 245, there is a stamp on the jacket
And before that I lived on Taganka, taught barefoot to steal.
My number is 245, and I want to go home again
And I often dream of my soft bed behind a thorn.

Donetsk Yura shouted to me: "Shura! There is no need to be sad without need",
They fashioned a fool out of bread to scare the salaga from VOKHR.
Excuse me ladies, llama cloak, I will leave you for five years,
Play scales on flutes and aim a marafet.

Chorus.

Wheels knock and there is no question where the train left,
It is a pity, the cigarettes are damp and the carriage is shaking slightly.

Chorus.