Бледный Нигер - Школьные годы
текст песни

I remember my school years
It doesn't seem like jazz, but there's a love of classical music in my voice
I hear the sound of the keys, I remember my childhood
I remember the keyboard teacher asking me to become an artist
Well, I turned out to be an artist

I'm grateful to the teacher, maybe something worked out
I remember walking down the street without saying hello
Perhaps that was our last meeting
What I reproach myself for, Natalya Timofeevna

A story about how my grandmother got into the choir
with Pugacheva
Probably she did too then
They had dreams like mine

I remember walking home from music school
Through puddles, covered in water, by intuition
When all the boys from school
Played war games, but without me

There were Cheetos chips
Ten rubles are also money
I forgot my jacket at the computer club
They tried to steal it from a passerby

My mother scolded me for my keys,
And my grandfather I changed the lock on the apartment.
Grandma watched after school, my hands weren't stabbing my veins.
Uncle's wake was before my eyes.

I'm glad that Grandpa's brother, Volodya,
I coped. There's nothing harder than losing a son.
School labor camp, the boys ate too many pills.
They said it was so bad.

We spent the whole night in the computer club.
I didn't think I'd soon be
throwing off a bag over and over again.
New school, beer for seventeen rubles.

Then I realized that extracurricular activities could be
Not just classes, but also drinking.
Then my parents realized that we were
Alcoholics at a school assembly.

Graduation, champagne, there was so much of it.
That my mother took me first.
Anna Yuryevna scolded me for
Didn't receive the teacher of the year award.
Right on the street.
So unexpectedly I learned a...

It doesn't seem like jazz, but there's a love of classical music in my voice.
I hear the sound of keys, I remember my childhood.
I remember my teacher. They asked me to play the keys like an artist.
Well, I turned out to be an artist.

I'm grateful to the teacher; maybe something worked out.
I remember walking down the street without saying hello.
Perhaps this was our last meeting.
For which I reproach myself, Natalya Timofeevna.