Александр Розенбаум - Коллаж
текст песни

There is a Moldavian in Odessa,
And in Moscow - Khitrovka
Business instrumental
Young ladies in new things
But Peter is not a bast
I know that
And I'm sweeter than everyone in the world
Ligovka is native

Ligovka, Ligovka, Ligovka,
You are my parental house
Ligovka, Ligovka, Ligovka,
We still have

On Marat Street
I was once happy
Many years have passed since then,
But all the guys remember
On Marat Street,
That I had a great authority.

In short pants,
Throwing books into the desks,
Like in catacombs, they climbed into heaps of firewood,
And in blue form of a new
Tired precinct
He caught us in the web of attic.

The boy is unintentional,
I'm in love with my ears
Could wait for hours in the entrance,
And winter nights
With jerking hands
Chords steel strings to sort.

On Marata Street
We walked a crowd of shaggy,
Bologna is fastened under the throat.
Everyone swore in the friendship of eternal
In the market on the blacksmith
Grandmothers have in the potato row.

Baranchka sweets,
I remember the nights in kindergartens
Karmans inside out -
I was born in Petrograd.

Three -meter fences
In the color of dirty canary,
Driven were driven
We are from blue benches.

On Nevsky, like on a pier,
Fishing around the clock:
Citizens, just from the exhibition,
Throw fishing rods.

Crush raincoats -Bolonia -
Foreign delivery:
Then the ship "Estonia"
Started in the harbor.

In the cinema, a blue ticket,
As a pass for a date.
And there Osinov leaf
Tanina's knees tremble.

We regretted us ceremonial
Heated windowsill,
And the dress is ritual
Schools dusted them.

We often remember distant days when
We skated at the goods on the comma,
They did not know the word "no", they wanted to hear only "yes"
And they believed the fortune -telling on the Christmas time.

We often recall our old courtyards,
And in the yards the grass with a tongue twister -
How were communal women jealous and kind to us,
When we were engaged in cleaning them.

Was it really, was it really
Was it really? So many years
Passed since the days of those young.
The heads sprinkled
And mine turned ...
Was it really so long ago?

We often recall our mothers cheerful laughter,
And the pain of loss, and the first victories,
And in a telephone tube through a snowstorm and crackling interference
Native distant voice: "Honey, you hear, food ..."

Our life has changed with the width of the trousers,
And the shoulders again come into fashion,
And if you look a little more attentive around,
That, my god, how it has changed over the years.

Was it really, was it really
Was it really? So many years
Passed since the days of those young.
The heads sprinkled
And mine turned ...
Was it really so long ago?

We are looking for a reflection in the bustle of the city,
But the streets are singing other songs,
And how sometimes I don't want to go home again,
And white at night to roam all together ...

Was it really, was it really
Was it really? So many years
Passed since the days of those young.
The heads sprinkled
And mine turned ...
Was it really so long ago?

Silence was indulged in the evening with a guitar.
Twilight flickered with lights of cigarettes.
It was in May when spring was flying
Songs in my yard.

The girls who are forgotten in winter bloomed,
They composed their beloved girls and poems.
And more and more often mothers called the girls home,
That's how the girls grew up.

Clever! Ah, mom, what kind of clever!
Do not scold - she drove me home.
And I would go, but forgot the name of the street,
Where did you give birth to your son.

I fight in the glass, like a ringed pigeon, a wing,
Well, a little more - and I will cure the sky away,
That's the will, that's it. Yes under the open window
He waves my daughter with my hand.

And I would have to return to the five -story house,
In the old well of the Nevsky court.
And all that I left in it, of course, is important
Even if everything is yesterday.

And therefore, Ligovka, Ligovka, Ligovka,
We still use you.