Чёрная волга [Chernaya volga] [English translation]

From far away for awhile

Black* "Volga" is moving

And like a wolf will be howling.

The one, from whom to get the debt it's rolling.

The windows are smashed all around.

The family photo from the shelf falling down.

No one understands clearly on what ground.

But they'll declare mourning in this small town.

Here even the cop not ready to make it stop.

Here even the cop doesn’t have time to call other cops.

Here they opening fire and keep it on.

This is a feature of our region.

This is a firearm district.

This is a settlement * "Shmalyaevo" we're living.

Here every round, either he do me in.

Or I will do him.

The entrance broke many legs.

Our entry very *strict, at best.

Here they will use us as hot dog mince.

Our password - login.

These are the years and terms, I thought it's OK,

When it's always add up at the end.

Here they exchange precious metal for pot.

Here they understand, who is a cop and who is not.

This is a red city in the bloody red land.

Facing the wall, bullet in the back, the end.

Until everyone sleep sweetly.

I'm having a dog-sleep.

I'm like my rhesus, I'm -negative.

And I consider as a big mistake

Those correctional institutions can’t correct us in any way.

We're causing damage, to the head and to the body.

The holes on the wall keep the memory, like drawings in the caves.

In this country if you don't have epaulettes, who are you anyway?

For them, who are you anyway?

This music is for the right hut, and rather,

It's for those who taken away by bailiff.

Mama can you make me a brother,

And let him be a very good jurist.

It's for those, for whom the word is sacred,

It’s for those who have not yet became the finalist.

Mama can you make me a brother,

And let him be a jurisdiction minister.

For them, who are you anyway?

From far away for awhile

Black* "Volga" is moving

And like a wolf will be howling.

The one, from whom to get the debt it's rolling.

The windows are smashed all around.

The family photo from the shelf falling down.

No one understands clearly on what ground.

But they'll declare mourning in this small town (x 2)

This music is for the right hut, and rather,

It's for those who taken away by bailiff.

Mama can you make me a brother,

And let him be a very good jurist.

It's for those, for whom the word is sacred,

It’s for those who have not yet became the finalist.

Mama can you make me a brother,

And let him be a jurisdiction minister.