|Что же ты сын никак не взрослеешь? Мама...

| Why are you not growing up, son?
Mom reproached the boy in the morning
You're sick with your stupid rock
Life is clearly not crushing your sides!
There are only drug addicts in your group
They also sit on the neck of mothers
Songs full - yes empty pockets
Who would set fire to your damn garage?

Do not give, mothers, guitar to sons
Become a musician - the grief will take
Doesn't make the Fender Stratocaster happy
Will not feed the Gibson Thunderbird son

Dope got on their internet
Jumping with a guitar is not a hole to dig
The neighbors have normal children
Work in the morning and sleep in the evening
I don't understand your songs
What does it hurt if you yell like that?
With your dog's music sneeze
The youth used to be different!

Here is your father up late at the factory
If only the son was dressed and shod
I used to play in the ensemble, too, like
There was also talk of that troublemaker
Daddy sighed, wiggling his nodules
Come on wife, be quiet, come on
Apparently not all will be born old.
You know son, if you want - play

Give, moms, guitar to sons
Let your dear child pass
And will sing with happiness Fender Stratocaster
And will reveal the soul of Gibson Thunderbird |