Я из СССР - Железная братва
текст песни

Heavy metal, grinding, clanking, and humming
The echo of a garage where an old truck has fallen asleep

Beard – the master of hardware
Roba is oily, he's a poet in repairs
And time is desperately needed
Cars are parked, and there are still no spare parts

Wrenches rattle for days
Trucks wait, there's no time, no matter how much you scream
Nerves are on edge, a dead end in your soul
Where to start?, handbrake?, flywheel?

Mechanics, mechanics – the iron brothers
Hands covered in grease, a 22mm spanner
They know the car – gurus of craftsmanship
The track without them would be half-dead!

Drivers are angry – deadlines are being pushed back
Mechanics sigh heavily in response
Everything depends on grease-covered hands
And the supplier is stuck, against their will

Somewhere the necessary parts are being delivered
Somewhere the invoice is stuck in the astral plane
Somewhere the payment hasn't gone through
Somewhere there's simply not enough swearing

Between diagnostics and a banal view
Between a botched job and a major overhaul
Between a newbie and experienced mechanics
Between a trip and months of downtime

Mechanics, mechanics – a gang of iron
Hands covered in grease, a 22mm spanner
They know the car – they're gurus of craftsmanship
The track without them would be half-dead!

In the world of trucks and long hauls
People exist, there's real action
Without them, transportation will suffer
Traffic flow will grind to a halt

Mechanics, locksmiths - the iron-fisted gang
Greasy hands, a 22mm spanner

The highway is half-dead without them