Lyrics Саша Прохоров - Мартовские рыси
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Мартовсие рыси ласково мяучат.
Захлебнулись в рисе грозовые тучи.
Седовласы сторож барыне зевает:
Небо не прокормишь кляксами вуалей.
Разбежались блохи в дали пыльных прерий.
Безутешный Локи - бес - в одежде перья -
Ловит их пинцетом схваченной синицы
И кладёт в корсеты плачущим девицам.
Нет весны иначе нашей скоморошьей,
Юный Фибоначчи нас с тобой помножил, -
Зажелтела почка на руке у вербы..
Март нас раскурочил ржавым левольвертом.
Нечего бояться, клясться больше нечем.
Дети шамаханцев в горле сварят печень.
И накормят рысей с добрыми сердцами,
Утонули в ризе дуче с небесами.
Утонули с ними барыня и сторож,
В Волге мрачно-синей с ними ты утонешь.
Люди нас окрестят "Грозовые тучи"
Я с тобою вместе, друг мой неразлучник.
Martovsy lynx gently meow.
Thunder clouds choked in rice.
Sadovlasy the watchman mistress yawns:
The sky can not feed the blotches of veils.
Fleas ran away to the dusty prairies.
Inconsolable Loki - bes - in clothes feathers -
Catch them with tweezers of grabbed tit
And puts in corsets to crying girls.
There is no spring otherwise our junk,
Young Fibonacci multiplied with you, -
Yellowed kidney on the willow arm ..
March us raskuruil rusty levolvertom.
There is nothing to fear, nothing more to swear.
Children of Shamakhanians will brew the liver in their throats.
And feed the lynx with kind hearts,
Douche with heaven drowned in his robe.
The lady and the watchman drowned with them,
In the Volga dark blue with them you drown.
People will christen us "Thunderclouds"
I am with you together, my friend lovebird.
Thunder clouds choked in rice.
Sadovlasy the watchman mistress yawns:
The sky can not feed the blotches of veils.
Fleas ran away to the dusty prairies.
Inconsolable Loki - bes - in clothes feathers -
Catch them with tweezers of grabbed tit
And puts in corsets to crying girls.
There is no spring otherwise our junk,
Young Fibonacci multiplied with you, -
Yellowed kidney on the willow arm ..
March us raskuruil rusty levolvertom.
There is nothing to fear, nothing more to swear.
Children of Shamakhanians will brew the liver in their throats.
And feed the lynx with kind hearts,
Douche with heaven drowned in his robe.
The lady and the watchman drowned with them,
In the Volga dark blue with them you drown.
People will christen us "Thunderclouds"
I am with you together, my friend lovebird.