Текст песни Александр Башлачев - Верка Надька Любка

When twice two was only four,
           I lived in a small communal apartment.
                  I worked with a pot, and the night lamp shone on me
               But I was a fool and did not pay for the light.

        I gnawed the same books with a seagull instead of drying,
        He dreamed of shooting himself with all of the Tsar Cannon,
        I racked my head in the form of a pillow.
        Eh, tops, roots! From the pot to the top
        An ordinary crusader.
        "Your turn," the frog called from the marshes.
        I backed up like a cancer.

        I drank the developer, I drank the fixer,
        The apartment in the morning turned into a sobering-up station,
        But he did not drown in a glass or in a cup.
        How awl in the bag - two laughs, three ridicule -
        A wounded fool, I mixed in my pipe
        And at once the eagle turned from tails.
        And soul with a soul, like a body in a cart,
        I rolled gold and nuts,
        But something like Lubke.

        The poets rhyme through flour.
        She showed me where the crabs winter.
        Although it sometimes came to a fight -
        I love Lyubka! And the details are the doctors.
        She even believed it herself.
        We lived at that time in a cholera barracks
        Cholera was considered to be winter.

        And Verka, the dressmaker, took the measurement from Lyubka -
        I wanted to sew it for the winter.
        But suddenly it turned out that the fur coat was on Verka.
        I suggested that she live with us.

        And in cards she understood not in moderation -
        This very Faith was crazy.
        Winter woke up and chased away the cholera.
        In short, the list of nights.
        Yes, Vera was both simple and understandable,
        And white spots filled the snow,
        I took the agitation at the root of the visual
        And wax from thousands of candles.

        And the awl in the sack we put on soap.
        Our barrack was flooded with holy water.
        We were soaped, but holy water
        A meter of holy and hard ice.

        And Vera made a blanket from a fur coat.
        There was a hole in it - it was straight and shining.
        Wrapped in a hole, they lay down on the bed
        And they became like crayfish, the three of them winter.

        But the water scented - yes, sleep or spirit -
        Nadya appeared in the sailor's vest.
        I was a sinner with her for a long time,
        Two times a mattress, yes, he quailed and left.
        Not so young, but not at all an old woman,
        I broke the parquet from the blue ice.
        Has come to say goodbye forever Nadyukha,
        Yes, and stayed with us forever.

        We lived in the winter actively and amicably.
        And the main thing - it was not boring for us.
        And whoever is rich, everyone was happy.
        But all the same they just squealed,
        When next to the rhythms of the secular stage
        I myself finally took the guitar in claws.

        Not a twist whistled my ravine on the mountain.
        I gave everything from what is given.
        And the head brain cut out on the bark:
        Hope plus Vera plus Sasha plus Lyuba
        Plus Aunt Serezha plus Uncle Natasha ...
        In short, does it all matter.

        I sang it in a dark cold barrack
        And he turned into an ordinary palace.
        So that's what crayfish does in the spring!
        And then it turned out that I was a cancer father.

        I sit in my body, as if in a volcano.
        Press me the light from the hole in the window!
        Three graces, like three faces in a glass.
        Three faces in a glass, three different mothers,
        three different mothers, and one daughter.

        But there is no consequence without special reasons.
        Especially, it's not like my daughter, but my son.
        And maybe - not a son, and maybe - a brother,
        Sister or mother, or I myself am a father,
        Or maybe the entire May Day parade!
        And maybe our whole city is Leningrad! ..

        It's brightening. I wonder and vice versa.
        And maybe - all of our Soviet people.
        And maybe in the cradle our whole country!
        Let's think of her