Текст песни Эмиль Горовец - Смоленский мальчишка
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Сейчас по Нью-Йорку холодному,
А может быть, по Лондону,
А может, по Мюнхену бродит он,
Смоленский мальчишка Иван.
Войной от России отринутый,
Слоняется по миру он,
Пока ещё веря заученным,
Чужим, иностранным словам.
Семья у мальчишки в Смоленске была,
Её в сорок первом война отняла,
И дом разломала,
И детство украла,
Взамен не дала ничего...
Давно на чужбину заброшенный,
Всё бродит он, всё бродит он,
И знает одно лишь о Родине -
Что Родины нет у него.
Ненастными днями, ночами ли,
Он горбится в молчании.
Кто знает, о чём размышляет он,
Смоленский мальчишка Иван?..
За годы скитаний измученный,
Издёрганный, приученный
При встрече здороваться левою,
А правую руку - в карман...
Когда-то в Смоленске он в прятки играл,
Пел песни и марки в альбом собирал,
Он помнит немножко
Ветлу под окошком,
И думает вновь - для чего?..
Давно на чужбину заброшенный,
Всё бродит он, всё бродит он,
И знает одно лишь о Родине -
Что Родины нет у него.
Сейчас по Нью-Йорку холодному,
А может быть, по Лондону,
А может, по Мюнхену бродит он,
Смоленский мальчишка Иван.
Глядит он на небо недоброе,
И думает о доме он,
И верит всё меньше заученным,
Чужим, иностранным словам.
Рекламы в глаза ему плещут огнём,
Но видит мальчишка ветлу под окном,
Смоленской весною -
Себя под ветлою,
И рядом - отца своего...
Давно на чужбину заброшенный,
Пусть бродит он, пусть бродит он,
Всё больше тоскуя по Родине,
А Родина есть у него!
Now it's cold in New York,
And maybe, according to London,
And maybe, according to Munich, he wanders,
The Smolensk boy Ivan.
The war from Russia was rejected,
He is hanging around the world,
While still believing memorized,
Foreign, foreign words.
The boy's family in Smolensk was,
She took away the war in the forty-first,
And the house broke,
And she stole her childhood,
In return, she did not give anything ...
For a long time to a foreign land,
He wanders about, he wanders about,
And he knows only about his Motherland -
He has no homeland.
Bad days, at night,
He hunches in silence.
Who knows what he thinks about,
Smolensk boy Ivan? ..
During the years of wandering exhausted,
Discouraged, accustomed
At a meeting to greet the left,
And his right hand is in his pocket ...
Once in Smolensk, he played hide and seek,
Sang songs and stamps in the album collected,
He remembers a little
Breeze under the window,
And he thinks again - for what? ..
For a long time to a foreign land,
He wanders about, he wanders about,
And he knows only about his Motherland -
He has no homeland.
Now it's cold in New York,
And maybe, according to London,
And maybe, according to Munich, he wanders,
The Smolensk boy Ivan.
He looks at the sky unkind,
And he thinks about the house,
And he believes less and less learned,
Foreign, foreign words.
Advertising in the eyes of him splash with fire,
But the boy sees the willow under the window,
Smolensk in the spring -
Myself under the wind,
And next to his father ...
For a long time to a foreign land,
Let him wander, let him wander,
More and more homesick for the motherland,
And the Motherland is with him!
And maybe, according to London,
And maybe, according to Munich, he wanders,
The Smolensk boy Ivan.
The war from Russia was rejected,
He is hanging around the world,
While still believing memorized,
Foreign, foreign words.
The boy's family in Smolensk was,
She took away the war in the forty-first,
And the house broke,
And she stole her childhood,
In return, she did not give anything ...
For a long time to a foreign land,
He wanders about, he wanders about,
And he knows only about his Motherland -
He has no homeland.
Bad days, at night,
He hunches in silence.
Who knows what he thinks about,
Smolensk boy Ivan? ..
During the years of wandering exhausted,
Discouraged, accustomed
At a meeting to greet the left,
And his right hand is in his pocket ...
Once in Smolensk, he played hide and seek,
Sang songs and stamps in the album collected,
He remembers a little
Breeze under the window,
And he thinks again - for what? ..
For a long time to a foreign land,
He wanders about, he wanders about,
And he knows only about his Motherland -
He has no homeland.
Now it's cold in New York,
And maybe, according to London,
And maybe, according to Munich, he wanders,
The Smolensk boy Ivan.
He looks at the sky unkind,
And he thinks about the house,
And he believes less and less learned,
Foreign, foreign words.
Advertising in the eyes of him splash with fire,
But the boy sees the willow under the window,
Smolensk in the spring -
Myself under the wind,
And next to his father ...
For a long time to a foreign land,
Let him wander, let him wander,
More and more homesick for the motherland,
And the Motherland is with him!