Михаил Жванецкий - Как шутят в Одессе - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

A group of people with mournful faces and musical instruments. Ahead of the foreman is a conductor. Call. The tenant comes out.

The foreman (politely raises the hat): Ay-I-I, they already told me. Such a grief!

Tenant: What is the grief?

Brigadier: Do you have a funeral?

Tenant: funeral?

Brigadier: Richelevskaya six, seven apartment?

Tenant: Yes.

Brigadier: Well?

Tenant: What?

Brigadier: Will we bury?

Tenant: Who?

Brigadier: What does "whom" mean? Who should know better, me or you? Well, do not go to the fool, take it out.

Tenant: Who?

Brigadier: I have people. Orchestra. Fifteen people of living people. They can kill, cut out anyone who will not endure right now. Manya, please.

Fat mania, in socks and men's boots, hit the plates and looked at her watch.

Tenant: A minute, who sent you here?

Brigadier: How do I know? Maybe you. What, should I remember everyone?

Enraged thrombone flies out of the team.

Prombon: Misha, there will be something, or we will smash this halabud to smithereens in half. I am disabled, you know.

Brigadier: Zhora, do not harass yourself. People have a lot of grief, they want to bargain. What is your price, talk as cultural people. You have not heard our sound yet.

Tenant: I imagine.

Brigadier: A second. You will hear our sound - you will remove the last shirt. These people feel someone else's grief as their own.

Tenant: I perfectly imagine.

Brigadier: Get up there and listen here. Aunt Manya, I ask for a signal to build. The fat mania hit the plates and looked at her watch.

The foreman (walked by the cavalry step): Konstantin, fasten yourself, hide your impudent tattoo with these illiterate expressions. You write something new all the time. If you do not withdraw it, I will remove you from work. Fedor Grigoryevich, although you are a student of the conservatory, you may even be more cultured than us - you know the notes, but this cowboy humiliates you. We, thank God, have work - street movement is growing. We only spent fifteen people in July.

Now you, Manya. What you cook there for lunch are not interested in, but every day it smells of fried fish every day. Go to vegetables or we say goodbye. I ask for a sad signal.

(The orchestra plays a fantasy in which a funeral march is hardly guessed).

The tenant (applauds): Thank you very much. But all this is in vain. Probably someone joked.

The foreman: Maybe, but this does not concern us. I took off fifteen people from work. I do not let the young man finish the conservatory. Madame Zborovskaya threw the farm on a young bandit so that he would be healthy. So do you want me to understand the jokes? Calculate, then laugh together.

An angry thrombone flies out of the group of musicians.

Prombon: Misha, what are you reigning with him? We will give it on the head and play our own, it is fire with fire!

Brigadier: Zhora, do not harass yourself. You have not yet served for that, why are you nervous again?

Tenant: How much is it worth burying?

Brigadier: With honors?

Tenant: Yes.

Brigadier: Slowly?

Tenant: Yes.

Brigadier: Five on the face.

Tenant: And without a deceased?

Brigadier: Through Third, although this is humiliating.

Tenant: Okay, agreed. Play, just sing:

In memory, Sigismund Lazarevich and his sister from Chisinau.

(Musicians at the Mani signal begin to play and sing:

"Before the time, begrand ... Who are you leaving us for? You are there, and we are here. We are here, and you are there." Behind the scenes, crying, someone was carried).

The foreman (amused): Here you have a deceased! Tenant. No, that's just. This is my neighbor Sigismund Lazarevich. He had a birthday today.