Игорь Гриськов - Про байкеров из Петушков
текст песни

I'll tell you guys about my village
what suddenly happened to the village of cockerels
there was a rich collective farm but the louse was eaten
Nowadays you won’t be able to look at the sky without tears
this incident with him started not so long ago
they brought a movie about some Crimea to our club
showed us then how from all over the country
let's go there in boar skins
everything seems to be packed for bless you
and their motorcycles are more expensive than our tractors
hairs long cEpi of the skull
a whole crowd gathered for freebies
They don’t do anything except drink beer
ride mopeds give interviews
they need all sorts of things they don’t need
money is allocated to them directly from the treasury
shouted in the hall at once we want to live the same way
all this could not but alarm us
as if everyone had gone crazy
Those who are young people have become bikers
I suddenly quit my job and the whole harvest rotted
Grow until autumn just collect
Why the hell should I hunch my shoulders and work for pennies?
Everyone wants to receive grants like bikers
the men were fiddling around for a reason
they slammed the dogs' chains on your outfit
Ivan spent the night in his forge for a month
there he wore skulls on his jacket
Little girl Fadeeva abandoned the cows
got carried away by the idea too, be healthy
and my grandfather’s leather jacket that he saved from the war
instantly converted into leather pants
we thought we were fooling around in vain
still rushed off in the morning on the quiet
it's like there's black smoke coming out of the fire
young people drove to Crimea on tractors
there are only old and young left in the cockerels
everyone tried to understand who was to blame
Grandfather Trofim gave his point of view
no, they say, self-importance, Crimea is to blame
the land hasn't been plowed in cockerels for a year now
the grain fields are all overgrown there
all the cows were slaughtered and first the sheep
and the mudflow eventually came
Today I received a letter in vain, they rushed to Crimea
bikers only give money to their own
and no one is happy to see us here, complete crap
Let's drive the tractors and rush home
I’ll light some makhorki and pour some shot glass
I'll lie down on a hillock and snore a little
and I will now wait for the idiots from the Crimea
so that our dear village can be revived again
We'll somehow revive it again