Димас - 245 - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Our train is leaving not abroad, not to Rome, not to Nice, The strict security is having trouble sleeping and the carriage is rocking a little. Grass in my pocket, a letter for Tanya, I'll hide a sharpening knife like a fakir, Not to live in Sochi, but in Magadan, to drink not vodka, but Chifir. My number is 245, there's a seal on my quilted jacket, And before I lived on Taganka, teaching the tramps to steal. My number is 245, but I want to go home again, And I often dream of my soft bed behind the barbed wire. Donetsk Yura shouted to me: "Shura, there's no need to be sad without reason." They made a fool out of bread, to scare a greenhorn from the guard. Forgive me, ladies - a llama mantle, I'll leave you for five years, Play scales on the flutes and put on your make-up. My number is 245, there’s a seal on my quilted jacket, And I used to live on Taganka, teaching the punks to steal. My number is 245, but I want to go home again, And I often dream of my soft bed behind the barbed wire. The wheels are clattering, and there’s no question: where did the train go? It’s a pity the cigarettes are damp and the carriage is rocking slightly. My number is 245, there’s a seal on my quilted jacket, And I used to live on Taganka, teaching the punks to steal. My number is 245, but I want to go home again, And I often dream of my soft bed behind the barbed wire. My number is 245, there’s a seal on my quilted jacket, And I used to live on Taganka, teaching the punks to steal. My number is 245, but I want to go home again, And I often dream of my soft bed behind the barbed wire.