Lyrics Анатолий Григорьев - За тех, кто в поле
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ЗА ТЕХ, КТО В ПОЛЕ.
Валет козырный лежит на даме,
И мел поземкой слетает с кия,
Все ближе осень, и душу давит
Печаль по имени Ностальгия.
Нам это чувство давно знакомо,
Оно нам стало родным до боли,
Мы в поле выпьем за тех, кто дома,
А дома выпьют за тех, кто в поле.
Сорвать бы шторы, сломать запоры
И напоследок окинуть взглядом
Чужие горы и наши норы,
И вечера, когда выпить надо.
Нам это чувство давно знакомо,
Оно нам стало родным до боли,
Мы в поле выпьем за тех, кто дома,
А дома выпьют за тех, кто в поле.
А наше поле – на нем не травы
И не березки, и не осины.
Подлянка слева, приманка справа
И ожиданье удара в спину.
Нам это чувство давно знакомо,
Оно нам стало родным до боли,
Мы в поле выпьем за тех, кто дома,
А дома выпьют за тех, кто в поле.
Нам календарь наш как флаг над лодкой,
Пусть нет сегодня в нем даты нужной,
Найдется повод, была бы водка,
И этот повод зовется дружбой.
Нам это чувство давно знакомо,
Оно нам стало родным до боли,
Мы в поле выпьем за тех, кто дома,
А дома выпьют за тех, кто в поле.
Нам это чувство давно знакомо,
Оно нам стало родным до боли,
Мы в поле выпьем за тех, кто дома,
А дома выпьют за тех, кто в поле.
А дома выпьют за тех, кто в поле.
Валет козырный лежит на даме,
И мел поземкой слетает с кия,
Все ближе осень, и душу давит
Печаль по имени Ностальгия.
Нам это чувство давно знакомо,
Оно нам стало родным до боли,
Мы в поле выпьем за тех, кто дома,
А дома выпьют за тех, кто в поле.
Сорвать бы шторы, сломать запоры
И напоследок окинуть взглядом
Чужие горы и наши норы,
И вечера, когда выпить надо.
Нам это чувство давно знакомо,
Оно нам стало родным до боли,
Мы в поле выпьем за тех, кто дома,
А дома выпьют за тех, кто в поле.
А наше поле – на нем не травы
И не березки, и не осины.
Подлянка слева, приманка справа
И ожиданье удара в спину.
Нам это чувство давно знакомо,
Оно нам стало родным до боли,
Мы в поле выпьем за тех, кто дома,
А дома выпьют за тех, кто в поле.
Нам календарь наш как флаг над лодкой,
Пусть нет сегодня в нем даты нужной,
Найдется повод, была бы водка,
И этот повод зовется дружбой.
Нам это чувство давно знакомо,
Оно нам стало родным до боли,
Мы в поле выпьем за тех, кто дома,
А дома выпьют за тех, кто в поле.
Нам это чувство давно знакомо,
Оно нам стало родным до боли,
Мы в поле выпьем за тех, кто дома,
А дома выпьют за тех, кто в поле.
А дома выпьют за тех, кто в поле.
For those who are in the field.
Valts trump card lies on the lady,
And the chalk gospel flies from Kiya,
The autumn is getting closer, and the soul gives
Sadness named nostalgia.
We have long been familiar to us
It has become native to pain,
We will drink in the field for those who are at home
And at home will come out for those who are in the field.
Cut the curtains to break the constipation
And finally take a look
Other people's mountains and our holes
And evenings when you need to drink.
We have long been familiar to us
It has become native to pain,
We will drink in the field for those who are at home
And at home will come out for those who are in the field.
And our field is not herbs on it
And not birchings, and not aspen.
Podleka on the left, bait on the right
And the expectation of the blow to the back.
We have long been familiar to us
It has become native to pain,
We will drink in the field for those who are at home
And at home will come out for those who are in the field.
We are our calendar as a boat flag,
Let there are no dates in it today
There is a reason, there would be vodka,
And this reason is called friendship.
We have long been familiar to us
It has become native to pain,
We will drink in the field for those who are at home
And at home will come out for those who are in the field.
We have long been familiar to us
It has become native to pain,
We will drink in the field for those who are at home
And at home will come out for those who are in the field.
And at home will come out for those who are in the field.
Valts trump card lies on the lady,
And the chalk gospel flies from Kiya,
The autumn is getting closer, and the soul gives
Sadness named nostalgia.
We have long been familiar to us
It has become native to pain,
We will drink in the field for those who are at home
And at home will come out for those who are in the field.
Cut the curtains to break the constipation
And finally take a look
Other people's mountains and our holes
And evenings when you need to drink.
We have long been familiar to us
It has become native to pain,
We will drink in the field for those who are at home
And at home will come out for those who are in the field.
And our field is not herbs on it
And not birchings, and not aspen.
Podleka on the left, bait on the right
And the expectation of the blow to the back.
We have long been familiar to us
It has become native to pain,
We will drink in the field for those who are at home
And at home will come out for those who are in the field.
We are our calendar as a boat flag,
Let there are no dates in it today
There is a reason, there would be vodka,
And this reason is called friendship.
We have long been familiar to us
It has become native to pain,
We will drink in the field for those who are at home
And at home will come out for those who are in the field.
We have long been familiar to us
It has become native to pain,
We will drink in the field for those who are at home
And at home will come out for those who are in the field.
And at home will come out for those who are in the field.