In Afghanistan
In the & quot; black & quot ;, tulip
With vodka in a glass , we sail silently above the ground.
mournful bird
Across the border ,
It is Russian ZARNITSA children home.
In the & quot; black tulip & quot;
Those who have jobs
Go to the homeland in the land of sweet lie ,
In an indefinite leave of absence ,
Torn to shreds ...
They never, never warm hug the shoulders.
When oases Jalalabad ,
Piled on the wing , & quot; tulip & quot; our fall,
We cursed all his work :
Again & quot; Bacha & quot; summed up the loss company.
In Shindand , Kandahar and Bagram
Again, per capita put a heavy stone ,
Again, bear the homeland heroes
Which in twenty years digging the grave ,
Which in twenty years digging graves .
But we must get
It is necessary to gather.
If you fail, then you can run and here.
Mountains shoot .
& quot; Stinger & quot; flies ,
If you run into , you guys are going to die a second time .
And we did not go the way home,
Where there is no war, and all have been familiar,
Where are the bodies they see once a year, pilots ,
Where clouds did not bring down helicopters.
And we go , from the wrath of his teeth ,
Dry vodka wetting his lips.
They come from Pakistan caravans
So, there is a job for & quot; tulip & quot ;,
And then there is work for & quot; tulip & quot ;.
In Afghanistan
In the & quot; black & quot ;, tulip
With vodka in a glass , we sail silently above the ground.
mournful bird
Across the border ,
To Russian ZARNITSA is our brothers home.
When oases Jalalabad ,
Piled on the wing , & quot; tulip & quot; our fall,
We cursed all his work :
Again kid summed loss company.
In Shindand , Kandahar and Bagram
Again, per capita put a heavy stone ,
Again, bear the homeland heroes
Which in twenty years digging graves .
