Metox - Гриша
текст песни

First retrial in '17 for a prison term
We were just from the central prison, and Grisha was rushing from a special porch
In the backyard near the workshops on the grass, in the summer
Lying around – talking about daily necessities, chifir, candy
We were convicted, and he was transferred to a strict regime
He's in his tenth year of twenty-five
One hundred and fifths in the amount of several, and something else there
Whether in '95 or '4
We, the greenhorns, even get along there with an accomplice
When he told us he'd hijacked a plane with a crew:
Onboard malfunctions, parachute, ejector
He'll be saved, but what about those others? - seven corpses
So convincingly, with the charisma of a GITIS actor -
I wanted to believe him, but he didn't write them out of life that way.
A Kalashnikov assault rifle - shooting, then on the run to the Tajiks.
22 years later, with us in the sewing workshop.
First, he's wanted abroad, but he won't come back.
The death penalty hadn't been abolished yet.
Then came the moratorium, followed by Borya.
Dushanbe, the bustle, the markets, seemingly a sea of ​​money.
But a decade later, I was drawn back.
Somehow, life isn't the same without our brothers.
I decided to return, despite the fact that the return would be harsh.
He explained it succinctly: "The birch trees called."
What kind of power is in the Russian land, which God has instilled in us,
When you love your homeland so much that you don't give a damn about life imprisonment? To visit my mother, to cheer up my family with toasts
to hug a childhood friend, the one with whom you dreamed under the stars
Caught in the act in public, I started calling my in-laws
Surveillance. Reception. Solitary confinement. Period
Of course, they set the ceiling - a quarter
10 special sentences plus 15 strict terms. Yelets krytka, Nizhny Novgorod zone
He came to us - the sky was clear - a miracle, like freedom
When ten in a row, and camp seems like freedom
I'm glad that chance brought us together, even if it was just this way
We had a blast, he sewed Sanka and me sweatshirts
He could make such shoes that Nikes would go to hell
Freundlich and Raikin were held in high esteem, anecdotes and tales
He was always with him, no matter how hard the cops tightened the screws
Even with such a long sentence, he managed to arrange dates for himself
Feminine warmth, phone calls, packages, gifts
We bring fish from the canteen so we can make cutlets with him
Then nettle soup, culinary secrets
He's always making something, cooking something, talking nonstop
Still squatting, entertaining the angry crowd
Where does all this life come from when fifteen is ahead? And you're already fifty, the word is too mild, it's hard.
We're free, we're depressed by the gloomy clouds.
Yes, from the bosses at work, from whores and assholes.
And he'll start singing "Murochka," dancing to the rhythm.
This is truly powerful, well, truly beautiful.
We've already freed ourselves, on a rare phone call.
He says he saw music videos, heard some rap.
The year is 2022, the fuss has begun.
Prigozhin, helicopters, conscription, PMCs.
At first, he kept working and working.
Then either he quit on his own, or they fired him for something.
Apparently, he got sad and wanted to go to the front.
But they wouldn't take him because of his age, and the sentence was still long.
Somehow, after a year, they came to an agreement and formalized his employment.
He called, they helped, asking, "Is everything okay?" They're gathering us for transport, right where the cauldron is.
There's still no news - some are trying to find out, some are looking.
The boys were already returning - some were met with a bathhouse.
Some were just saying "hi," some were seen by chance.
And then a message arrives with a photo from Vanka.
Grishanya, a cross, some earth, and ribbons on a wreath.