I love Piter (St Petersburg) right up to the swollen,
the swollen faces that rub up against the stalls,
here the new Dostoevsky, or Pushkin,
go through life in a march through the centuries.
I love you,
and no on else,
do I love at all...
do I love at all...
Because of the question, "what region are you from?"
And because of the answer of a smack of the fist,
And because of the blessed Grebinshchikov,
I love Piter, so much that I get a lump in my throat.
I love you,
and no on else,
do I love at all...
do I love at all...
Because we are the cultural capital,
We fucked all, and will fuck all.
And we don't need any fucking Nice,
Peter's our father, Matvienko's our mother.
I love you,
and no on else,
do I love at all...
do I love at all...