Текст песни М. Жванецкий - Нет нашей бабы лучше

Our!
     Everyone shouts: "Frenchwoman, Frenchwoman!" - and I think so: no, our woman is no better. Our woman is our greatest achievement. Before that - and so, and that way, and tyuti-dregs, and got up, and sat down, and bowed, romances, engagements ... Our one hundred grams gave, on the tram rolled - yours.
     Marriage of convenience does not recognize. What can you give her? Her wealth is no different from yours. And unpretentious, strong, clear-eyed, hardy, happy from nonsense. Food itself produces. And the wiring, and lime, and bricks, and sleepers, and the core invisibly throws where. A purse of five hundred pounds and in front of him - a stroller with a child! This is after the clearing in the taiga cut through. And put in the queue - holds! Englishwoman does not hold, Romanian does not hold, ours holds. From the five men will repulse, it will reach the counter, the seller will twist, and take the exact weight.
     Put a wagon driver - lead, give a tank - lead. Husband learns by gait. And by the way he inserts a key into the door, he knows what he has at work, what a bloke he has offered to him for some three vile things. And in the morning - do you hear? - doo-doo-doo, top-top-top, the country is trembling: then our women went to work. Our saints are walking, flesh of the flesh, our ribs are dear.

     Oh, these visitors are Finns, Belgians, New Zealanders. Better, they say, your women in the whole world do not. So they snapped up, and our national wealth is being taken out. What, they say, is her strength - she herself does not understand. Do you like a fool - keep it, you like a clever - if you please. You want strong, you want weak ...
     In any city he goes to, is not afraid to lose his job. In the rain comes, the snowstorm leaves. Quite a man confused and walked away. Lost from diversity, strength, depth. Weakly significantly turned out to be our man, much less interesting, primitive. He has gone crazy, he looks with his evil eye, the authorities are afraid to death, he cannot solve anything. At work, silent, at home playing the guitar. And this is not afraid of a damn thing, does not put a single boss in a penny. It reaches Moscow for itself, for its son, for its holy soul. For men standing in front of men.
     So it will be remembered to his full height: the father cries in one shoulder, the husband in the other, on his chest a child of about thirty, the grandson of ten years holding his hand. So it stands on the photograph that in the world goes hand in hand - one to the whole earth!