Евгений Евтушенко - Облако в штанах. 2 - В.Маяковский
текст песни

Praise me!
I'm not a couple of a great.
I am over everything that has been done
I put "nihil".

Never
I don't want to read anything.
Books?
What books!

I thought before -
Books are done like this:
The poet came
easily unclenched the mouth
And immediately sang an inspired simpleton -
Please!
But it turns out -
Before it starts to eat,
They go for a long time, ravy from fermentation,
And quietly flounders in the mud of the heart
Stupid wobble imagination.
While boiling, they saw rhymes,
Of the loves and Solovyov are some kind of brew,
The street writhes blessing -
She has nothing to scream and talk.

Cities of the Babylonian towers,
Burning, we will raise again
And God
Cities on arable land
Rubs
interfering the word.

Street Muku silently pearl.
A cry stood from a throat.
Puffed up, stuck across the throat,
chubby Taxi and bony spans
The chest was baked.

The consumptions are flat.
The city locked the road with darkness.

And when -
Still!-
Grounded out a crush on the square,
Purprisingly porch.
I thought:
in the choirs of Arkhangelov Khorala
God, robbed, goes to punish!

And the street crouched and yelled:
"Come on to eat!"

Make up the city of Krupe and Kruppika
threatening eyebrows.
And in the mouth
Dead words decompose the corpses,
Only two live, fat -
"Bastard"
And some other
It seems "borsch".

Poets,
soaked in crying and sob,
They rushed from the street, Erosh Cosmia:
"How to write off with two
And the young lady,
and love,
And a flower under the dew? "
And behind the poets -
Street thousand:
Students,
prostitutes,
Contractors.

Gentlemen!
Stop!
You are not poor
You do not dare to ask for handouts!

We, hefty,
With a step, the fathom
We must not listen, but to tear them -
their,
sucked by a free application
To every double bed!

Whether they humbly ask them:
"Help me!"
Pray about the anthem,
About the oratorio!
We are the creators ourselves in a burning anthem -
The noise of the factory and the laboratory.

What am I to Faust
Fears of missiles
Sliding with Mephistopheles in a heavenly parquet!
I know -
I have a nail in my boot
Nightsmare than Goethe's fantasy!

I,
Golden
Whose every word
the soul is new
name the body,
I say to you:
The smallest dust dust
The most valuable that I will do and did!

Listen!
Preaches
staring and wall,
Today is a screaming zarathustra!
We
With a face, like a sleepy sheet,
with lips, sagging like a chandelier,
We,
Kutorzhana of the city of the Light Prozia,
where gold and dirt were stirred up,-
We are cleaner than the Venetian lasory,
The seas and suns washed at once!

Do not care that there is no
Homers and Ovidies
people like us
From soot in Osppe.
I know -
The sun faded b, seeing
Our souls are golden placers!

Visits and muscles - more faithful prayers.
Whether we can be blessed by mercy of time!
We -
every -
Hold in our five
world drive belts!

This lounged to the Calvones of the audience
Petrograd, Moscow, Odessa, Kyiv,
And there was not a single
which
I would not shout:
"Crpoise,
Speak him! "
But to me -
People,
And those who offended -
You are all more expensive for me.

Saw,
How does the dog licking your hand licking?!

I,
Ozhannaya in today's tribe,
How long
Scaby joke,
I see the time running through the mountains,
which no one sees.

Where the eyes of people breaks off,
head of the hungry hordes,
In the thorns of the crown of revolutions
The sixteenth year is coming.

And I am with you - his forerunner;
I am - where the pain is everywhere;
on each drop of tear leaks
He crucified himself on the cross.
You can’t forgive anything.
I burned the souls where tenderness was raised.
It is more difficult than taking
A thousand thousand basasties!

And when,
His arrival
the rebellion announcing
Go to the Savior -
I am to you
I'll pull out my soul
I will trample,
To make big!-
And the bloodied ladies like a banner.