Текст песни Михаил Кочетков - Портрет попугая

Two hundred years of sitting , two hundred years been saying stuff
in the cell, both in prison in his own shit and feathers .
You can beat the wing or right through his head ,
but secure the cage , it's my death , my escort !

So I am rubbish and klyuyu choicest pilaf
and I looked out the window, as in silent films , all without words.
Only down by a dense mat Ramah yes barking ,
baritone tone yes cathedral bells .

Somewhere live without chains and shackles are not on a leash,
To hell with all sending , say, take out the fate itself .
Vodka ruining lives , will not love , the ceiling whistle .
I would be their inheritance : I would fall , did not hesitate .

To my ears in nepriglushenny , full sound flew ,
to breathe in full freestyle liberty , not the stench of bodies!
To hell with my life , to hell with hemp convict ,
than to sit in the shit , better to die on long journeys !

Two hundred years of sitting , two hundred years been saying nonsense ...