Текст песни ILWT - Старый художник

An old artist, moreover, a philosopher,
He lived-not-tricked, tricked without questions.
In a shabby two-room apartment in an old house,
He often sly - did not keep himself in shape.

Pictures of the rooms about a hundred,
But no sense from them - even bursting.
Draws portraits on Nevsky Prospect,
As time passed, he barely noticed.

And before that, he was well known and counted.
Had a great price, the jellyfish was in high esteem.
But right now it seems blind: neither to hell and not to heaven,
But the drinking companions whispered: "Sell the apartment!"

Come on, sell the apartment!
Come on, buy pictures! (x4)

Confident now more than ever,
With friends in the kitchen goes luda.
He congratulates them heartily,
And he thinks about them: "Here are drunks."
You have no purpose - you just tinker,
At half-time somewhere tricky,
I'll take off the mask of mental routine,
I will sell a shack - I will fly to Argentina!

Pictures will go under the hammer very quickly.
Everyone will know, I am a respected Mr..
Wow, turn around there, remember the USSR
Hang on, Argentina, Sir is coming to you!

Come on, sell the apartment!
Come on, buy pictures! (x2)

Realtor appeared - documents are in place.
Blue artist everywhere crosses.
Drinkers, like small children:
"Sale of hut must be noted!"

Luda continues, all the brothers come:
Poets, writers ... aristocracy.
The ball begins, the candles are lit ...
Horny beau monde ... fiery speeches.

The artist is in tears - he is clearly pleased,
The thought of the pictures, the arrivals back,
But suddenly everything got dark, clutched at his heart ...
Ah, Argentina, - closed door.