Текст песни top - Винни-Пух

Clouds are gathering in which Winnie the Pooh is probably hiding.
Hurry up, children, pull out your hands, the rain lines from the bear will hurt your ears.
What? It doesn't matter that mom and dad's paraphernalia was taken away,
If you didn't do your homework, you were punished.
Get out the guitars, drums, do it all yourself -
That's why it's summer, not winter with a mustache.
Yes, with a mustache, when it's warmer to be hairy,
When your parents tie scarves for you and become kinder to you.
When the frost freezes your pussy and you have to pull on your leggings,
There are hot sausages. Or not hot, but it’s still warmer and tasty.
But winter is not coming soon. You sit and think about summer...

And the clouds clear, new lyrics come to mind,
And don’t be upset that you don’t have a piece of paper at hand.
You sit quietly on a bench to think everything over. Quiet, cozy...
And behind is the pillar of his native university, as if the situation was designed this way.
Summer... Few people at such moments feel like the hours are passing quickly,
It’s as if universality is sitting and relaxing somewhere in a bistro.
You continue to sit on the warm bench,
And applicants, arms akimbo, proudly walk by to show their results
To dads and moms.
They have no idea that the admissions committee is just the beginning.
Then they will wake up and think over a cup of tea:
Why did you do all this, enroll, study...
Or maybe they stepped? Why torture yourself like that?
Lots of answers, assumptions, a whole bunch of unnecessary opinions...

And I don’t want to interfere with such reasoning at all.
Someone, of course, will understand, but others will decide that he’s crazy
In your studies, in everything that those old two courses gave you.
Remember: it was fun, although sometimes vile.
At moments it was completely miserable, and my stomach was empty;
In some places I renounced everyone like that when I was especially sad.
Why explain to them? She will survive everything herself,
They will find a way for themselves, they will find their “I”.
Someone will choose the wrong one
Someone will let a tangle of life's realities into their children's world
And he will suffer, watching how the old canons sadly crumble.
Still others will simply understand everything and study calmly,
Don’t be sad in vain, develop your mind, don’t reject your comrades.
If only there was always a faithful friend nearby who would help me think through such a tangle of thoughts.

Friend... It seems like a word with only four letters,
But I want to believe that each one consists of at least two.
There are no such words, combinations, prose, poems,
Which can convey gratitude to him and his state of mind.
Everyday routine seems to disappear, as if it never existed at all,
It is gradually being replaced, new solutions are coming that are not fixated on “maybe”.
And even as you stomp towards the tram, you understand that you need to say “thank you”
To him, because his friendship is irreplaceable.
And he walks, cheerfully moving his feet, chatting about something;
You don’t really delve into it, you agree, such a conversation always helps,
Puts thoughts in place, new couplets are born,
Added to those initial ones about summer.
Donskaya and Shabolovka rush past - quite beautiful places,
There is also the Assumption Cathedral, where hundreds of people read their prayers.
I remember the experiences of preparing for exams,
Problematic issues, disputes, someone's tricks,
Very dirty tricks, but we survived everything. Thanks again friend.
Eyes full of gratitude turn to God.
And in general these streets are very good:
Textile, Cathedral, the same "Union" nearby, residential buildings -
Everything looks so great!
The tram adds new impressions,
The very first trip flashes through my head,
And no other entertainment is required.
Summer lyrics don't end with this, they continue,
So many days have been spent waiting for the muse to return.
And so she rose from the stone grave,
She needed all these sensations to come up with new motives.

Sitting in a cozy tram, you begin to think:
Who are all these people on the streets?
Who are they, those who are in no hurry?
What is going on in their lives, how do they feel about it all?
And, seeing a dirty spot on the asphalt...
No, not what is left behind by someone who steps in a puddle, not excrement from