Lyrics Всеволод Емелин - К восьмому марта

Everyone has his own creative method,
And I searched for a long time,
Until I realized: the task of the poet -
Raising a woman on a pedestal.

From the terrible Motherland
To the one with whom he slept in the bushes -
I'm doing all diligently
On the bronze pedestal.

This program
I'm not tired to perform.
Lady, stop washing the frame,
Click on the pedestal!

After all, a woman is not a way
Bringing to orgasm,
This synthesis, as the philosopher will say,
Love, beauty and reason.

It is a deep abyss,
And then the sky-high takeoff,
She is laughing frantically,
That gives, but it does not.

Then he plays, then does not play,
That is flattering, pure kitten,
Then suddenly he will go to Israel,
Then suddenly he will say that there will be a child,

That she is subtle,
Then suddenly he shares property,
There is a woman drinking,
And it can be non-drinking.

She has charisma
And over the peasants power,
As the burning hut sees,
So in it immediately.

And, thanks to all this,
Ladies for a number of reasons
Are the main subject
In male poets.

And you really excuse me,
I'm a stupid straight man,
I want women to cast in granite
And erect on a pedestal.

Brodsky, the anti-people
By its very nature,
I wrote poetry every year
To Catholic Christmas.

And I am the son of a working people,
I keep the behests of my fathers
And I write mellifluous odes
To the International Women's Day.

The Russian-speaking author,
The guy from his native plant,
Always drink on the Eighth March
And the women will write an ode.

I remember, young and hot
Through Moscow through the frosts
I carried Zina as a gift
Yellow mimosa.

I remember, I dragged Rimke
Crumbling tulips,
They are in the Central market
Sold Azerbaijanians.

I remember, I'm mortally in love,
In the holiday of the beautiful Vika
Gave the perfume "White Linen"
I drank them myself later.

Where you are now, it is not known,
In what sort of shed they were given?
But to all of you there was a place
At the poet on a pedestal.

In short, the Eighth of March
Has a tradition in the people,
But all sorts of falsifiers
Again we are prevented from getting drunk.

Like, the holiday was invented by Jews,
Nihilists are shameless girls,
Some New York seamstresses
And the famous Clara Zetkin.

What are you, ugliness,
Take away our holidays?
Do you have a day - a holiday,
And we like cattle plowing.

And what do you want me to do,
Did the Jews come up with the holiday?
And against the shameless girls
I have nothing at all.

Enough cleverness, pour,
Let's drink to interesting women.
For the fire-breathing Kollontai
And for Larissa Reisner.

Let's drink one hundred and more,
It's a pity we're over forty,
And let them say that this is Purim,
Day of ancient Jewish showdowns.

What do we now, shudder in tears,
What was cut because of the woman
Jews three thousand years ago
Persians or Arabs?

What was there a great vizier ...
Who is interested in this?
But as I will introduce Esther to the bed,
I envy Artaxerxes!

Zetkin is not Zetkin, Purim is not Purim,
We do not need a shadow on the wattle fence.
We will not give this holiday.
Long live the women's day!

And I raise my glass
For our beautiful ladies.
And I put them on a pedestal,
And what I wish you.