Текст песни Ефимыч - ТИРАНическая

I sit on the throne for many years
I'm considered a son of a bitch half the world
Saves self-irony and modern medicine

And I would throw it all
Interrupting a running roller in a circle
But the sons turned out badly
One is a fool, the other is an alcoholic

And both look at me cautiously
Forget everything, bury the paper
Keep away with some blue eyes
Sip a beer in Golden Prague

But my post, which so many like
Almost rules out simple happiness
If you allow yourself to relax
Almost immediately torn to pieces

Then the parade of wimps, trouble
Freedom, equality, dirt, flags
To the songs about how cool it is now
Talking about the common good

With pood truth in every word
With censer, halo, hook, whip
Such will come to drink blood,
That even I will seem like a bunny

Well, it's time. It's time for paper
Fail, patch cracks
And you endure me, tramps
I may be evil, but less for you