Текст песни Дмитрий Кимельфельд - Прыжки с трамплина
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Рассказ бригадира лесоповальческой
бригады на трассе Уренгой-Ужгород
Я, может быть, сейчас скажу немного длинно:
Всему виною — прыжки с трамплина.
А дело в том, что год назад какой-то гангстер
В горах построил трамплин гигантский.
Я с малых лет, как к левитановым полотнам,
Припал душою к суперполётам.
Во сне летал и наяву я постоянно —
Ну, как Янковский у Балаяна
В тот роковой для меня день в Бакуриани
Уже я думал — рекорд в кармане.
Внизу стоит толпа и смотрит, рты разинув —
Сплошные кепки. А в них — грузины.
Судья толкнул меня вперёд и охнул слабо.
Сам стал зелёный, как флаг ислама.
Когда я прыгнул, под лопатку ткнулось дуло.
А сзади голос: «Вертай к Стамбулу!»
Я говорю: «Да у меня ж не «ИЛ, а лыжи!
Нас над границей собьют свои же!»
А он в ответ: «Да ты любому дашь здесь фору!
Жить хочешь, дядя — вертай к Босфору!»
…И как ракетчики не сбили нас обоих?…
Спасибо, мама, что я не «Боинг»!
Так пролетел я километров тыщу триста —
Причем, под дулом у террориста.
Видать, с напарником моим общались черти,
Но только вижу — внизу мечети.
Он соскочил, а я застрял в лимонных ветках,
На что и била их контрразведка.
Но я не выдал, не сболтнул, не брякнул всуе,
За что и как мы тут голосуем.
Я ЦРУшникам твердил в припадке бурном:
«Хочу обратно, к родимым урнам!
Хочу в свой край полей, лесов и дисциплины.
Там мой народ и там мои трамплины!»
Потом меня — всё это помню я до дрожи —
Постигла участь их молодёжи.
Конечно, кое-кто и там живёт шикарно,
Но я трудился, как папа Карло.
Так и погиб бы на чужбине я, как Овод,
Когда б не дальний наш газопровод.
К нему добрался я, поллитру хряпнул с горя
И — полз по трубам до Уренгоя.
Ну что ж, пошли валить стволы, кончай собранье!
Спасибо, братцы, всем за вниманье.
The story of the Forestial Forestry Forest
brigades on the Urengoy-Uzhgorod highway
I may say a little long now:
With all the wine - jumping with a springboard.
But the fact is that a year ago some gangster
In the mountains built a giant springboard.
I have been from an early age, as to Levitan canvases,
He fell in soul to superfold.
In a dream, I flew and in reality constantly -
Well, like Yankovsky at Balayan
On that fatal day for me in Bakuriani
I already thought - a record in my pocket.
The crowd stands below and looks, losing their mouths -
Continuous caps. And in them - Georgians.
The judge pushed me forward and gasped weakly.
He himself became green, like the flag of Islam.
When I jumped, the muzzle poked under the shoulder blade.
And behind the voice: "Turn to Istanbul!"
I say: “Yes, I don’t have“ silt, but skis!
They will drive us over the border! "
And he in response: “Yes, you will give a head start here!
You want to live, uncle - turn to the Bosphorus! "
... And how did the rocket launches not hit us both? ...
Thank you, mom, that I'm not Boeing!
So I flew by a thousand kilometers of three hundred thousand -
Moreover, under the barrel at the terrorist.
Looks like the devils talked with my partner,
But I just see - at the bottom of the mosque.
He jumped off, and I got stuck in lemon branches,
To which they were beaten by counterintelligence.
But I did not give out, did not bother, did not blur in vain,
For what and how we vote here.
I insisted to the Cenchers in a seal of stormy:
“I want to go back to my home urns!
I want to go to my edge of fields, forests and discipline.
There are my people and there are my fractins! ”
Then me - I remember all this to trembling -
The fate of their youth suffered.
Of course, some people live gorgeously there,
But I worked like Pope Carlo.
So I would have died in a foreign land, like a boss,
When it would not be a distant gas pipeline.
I got to him, grunted half a liter from the grief
And - crawled through the pipes to Urengoy.
Well, let's go to blame the trunks, end the assignment!
Thank you, brothers, all for attention.
brigades on the Urengoy-Uzhgorod highway
I may say a little long now:
With all the wine - jumping with a springboard.
But the fact is that a year ago some gangster
In the mountains built a giant springboard.
I have been from an early age, as to Levitan canvases,
He fell in soul to superfold.
In a dream, I flew and in reality constantly -
Well, like Yankovsky at Balayan
On that fatal day for me in Bakuriani
I already thought - a record in my pocket.
The crowd stands below and looks, losing their mouths -
Continuous caps. And in them - Georgians.
The judge pushed me forward and gasped weakly.
He himself became green, like the flag of Islam.
When I jumped, the muzzle poked under the shoulder blade.
And behind the voice: "Turn to Istanbul!"
I say: “Yes, I don’t have“ silt, but skis!
They will drive us over the border! "
And he in response: “Yes, you will give a head start here!
You want to live, uncle - turn to the Bosphorus! "
... And how did the rocket launches not hit us both? ...
Thank you, mom, that I'm not Boeing!
So I flew by a thousand kilometers of three hundred thousand -
Moreover, under the barrel at the terrorist.
Looks like the devils talked with my partner,
But I just see - at the bottom of the mosque.
He jumped off, and I got stuck in lemon branches,
To which they were beaten by counterintelligence.
But I did not give out, did not bother, did not blur in vain,
For what and how we vote here.
I insisted to the Cenchers in a seal of stormy:
“I want to go back to my home urns!
I want to go to my edge of fields, forests and discipline.
There are my people and there are my fractins! ”
Then me - I remember all this to trembling -
The fate of their youth suffered.
Of course, some people live gorgeously there,
But I worked like Pope Carlo.
So I would have died in a foreign land, like a boss,
When it would not be a distant gas pipeline.
I got to him, grunted half a liter from the grief
And - crawled through the pipes to Urengoy.
Well, let's go to blame the trunks, end the assignment!
Thank you, brothers, all for attention.