Текст песни Александр Розенбаум - Очередь за хлебом

Streets, avenues,
Boulevards, alleys,
Winter frosts
And the summer heat.
Never to home
I did not bring the rolls,
When she took her hot.

Ten children from the genus
And all life - up to the sky.
And only two poods
At school on the scales.
My mother said:
- Blow, son, for bread, -
And I blew like the wind in my sails.

City - seven kopecks,
For sixteen - round bread,
That trees are green,
That is a potholing on the ground,
For eleven kalachik
And a loaf for twenty-two,
And the boys are chasing the ball in the yard.

Slightly poddaty uncle
I unloaded the car,
Chinno observes
The queue is the law.
The whole country recently
Dry biscuits dried,
And a rare Frauer climbs into trouble.

And I'm standing, I think deftly
Thieves with his own mind:
Urban with soda -
Eskimo turned out.
At the plombir for twenty-eight
For all life not to collect,
Batya vyporet - do not ask,
How to drink to give.

Thick neighbor,
As if for fun,
Flight officer
Near the cash register presses.
My coins are shaking
Sweaty hands,
And the numbers are fired by a machine gun.

And who did not see - that will not break.
The word abominable is not & quot ;.
On the loaf he saved -
And sweets & quot; Caucasian & quot; took.
There are, of course, more tasty,
Only closer to the boys
Those that are fifty rubles a kilogram.

Edging on a chair,
As if in it needles,
Uncle Zhorik from his place
The evening does not rise.
Pass gave Rogulin,
Tolya Firsov clicked -
And Tsuruillo puck gets.

And the city - seven kopecks,
And sixteen - round bread,
That trees are green,
That is a potholing on the ground,
For eleven kalachik,
And a loaf for twenty-two,
And the boys are chasing the ball in the yard.