Singer: Vyacheslav Myasnikov. Page 1

I want to know the children
About the Great the war,
When their great-grandparents and grandparents
Defended their country.
If not for that generation
That fought itself, not sparing,
There would be no Russia,
Maybe you and me.

Victory Day, Victory Day
Presented to us by our grandfathers!
And as if we are worthy to live,
To the grandchildren, something also present?
But in the world there are such things
For which you want to live!
Also thought veterans
And went to the front to protect us:
This is Peter's White nights,
The beauty of the Golden ring,
It is the ringing of the bells over the river,
With no end in sight!
So we heard each fall
Over the fields the cry of cranes
So we have figure skating
Ahead of the rest!
That would walk kids to school
From Arkhangelsk and to the Kuril Islands,
And Gagarin was in space first
Rostropovich would the world be conquered!
So we were a hockey power
Our ballet all over the world love
To the pride filled,
When I hear the Russian anthem!
And "Caucasian captive" exactly
Not left used on the TV screen
Sang their songs Vysotsky -
Thank you, Veterans!

Victory Day, Victory Day
Gave us our grandparents!
For feats in the great in the war
Should be grateful we're double!

Every man has a little mystery,
He keeps her childhood, she is extraordinary.
He doted, it is necessary for business,
He feels a particular part of the body.
Podshtaniki, podshtaniki, podshtaniki
Frost on the street, don't panic.
Under jeans and pants
You put these things
Keep its economy on science.

Not oil, not gas, not coal, not that our strength,
Pants, under pants, invincible guards.
Not important the color and shape, my knees let it hang down,
No matter the brand and price, the pants cover.
Putting them deputies think it their duty,
For a cushy place, not stay in them long
And defense services in the pants insulated,
To sit because they are not enough in places so remote.

Podshtaniki, podshtaniki, podshtaniki,
Frost on the street, don't panic.
Under jeans and pants
You put these things
Keep its economy on science.
But there is one skill in life is very valuable,
Remove them with pants to be able at the same time.
You have not removed them synchronously, not coped with the task,
And here it is for you ladies, you moron, not macho.

How nice to be a man:
No leg shaving machine...
And hairs to pull out
Then palm check...
How nice to be a man:
It is not necessary to clean the whole house
You don't have Windows to wash...
Just do what they need to be washed?

Children do not need us to give birth,
We can only wash them...
We bathed them,
His and other people's...
Spit on the men in question
The brittle ends of your hair...
And the queue for the toilets
Men, imagine, no!

As well all my life to be able
With two glasses at once to get drunk,
Then all the brain -
As good a man to be!
After six you can have
Let the sweater is wet you're all...
Hanging flanks, hanging stomach
But no need to paint the mouth!

No need to dry hair
And to gather two hours...
In a closet full of stuff to look
Where have nothing to wear...
On the track, since I feel it need
It does not matter!
You can stand at the wheel
And though you stand there for half an hour!

To be a man just class!
Few men now!
Nowadays a chic,
If a man-a man!

Now we ourselves have become fathers,
And grandchildren too, their mom.
Understand these changes,
But for you, always we are CHILDREN.
And not something expensive not yet....
Our mothers our call...
And nothing is more expensive for us
My mother's happy eyes.

Mom our cute, mom, mommy,
Someone that young who already grandma....
Oh, how I want to hug you
Because you have some...
From sons and daughters
Bow to you to the ground.

Oh, how I want, things to leave
Happy 8th of March to congratulate them now,
Women home on earth, the most
And of course it is our mom...
I wish in the childhood we now return,
In the care of mom to take a dive
When the finger is something pinched
Kissed you and held...
On boards we are all burned out,
On the cards the crooked drew
On the writings scaneaza over the Desk
The inscription for MOM on 8th March.
Still kept the plates
Which scorched buzzwords
From which smiled the mother,
It was the best gift is.