OBLOMOV, Vasya


I’m going to Magadan

My name is Vasya and I live in Russia

I work at a café named "At Beaver's"

Every day at 8 p.m

I show up at the synth,

And play various soviet trash

Women ask for something about a granite stone in the chest

Men order "Vladimirsky Tsentral",

Someone once asked for ten times on end

In all its aspects, the job is no gem

My friend the pianist is another matter,

He works for Garonian

Honestly, I have a higher music education,

My parents raised me well

But I haven't found a better job:

Here you're either a CFO, or you sweep the yard

The program is dull, ain't it just,

And every day somebody

Tanks up again and starts chasing me

For somehow

Diversifying my tracklist,

I've decided to sing my songs, I'm pretty rich-voiced

I've written a song and sing it for the local Armenians

The song is about a jailed thief,

A tear-jerking story

With a simple chorus: "Moving to Magadan!"

Moving to Magadan!

To Magadan!

That's a shitty song, of course, but the locals like it:

They say, I've got talent, and I must get famous

The crowd is storming "At Beaver's" entrance,

Everybody is waiting for me, greeting me eagerly

The "Beaver"'s owner is happy: dough flows like water

He fired a sessional singer, raised my rate,

He says, "Just sing, Vasya, sing, Vasya, sing!"

We've started selling the ringtone,

People from the FSB23 come to my concerts,

Above the Black Sea "Magadan" is in the air

I'm on top of the world, I'm the real lad!

Moving to Magadan!

To Magadan!

I'm at a party, singing this track,

Potanin is pleased, drawing my cheque

He is recommending me to all his oligarchic friends

Don't you believe it? He is recommending me

To all his oligarchic friends!

I've won "The Song of the Year", the "Golden Gramophone"

I don't believe my eyes, but I'm not dreaming!

And here is the Minister of Culture raising his glass,

And, guess what? From his iPhone 3G

Victoriously resounds:

Moving to Magadan!

To Magadan!

But, to my regret, I've remained

A one-hit wonder

Just one, but a hit,

Which is know to everyone

Across our immense country


The Ass City

One can't hear the birds singing, the "GRAD" shot behind the house.

The People came to decision: here will be the Ass City!

Under the grayish sky, where governor is an asshole,

The builders are boozy, both young and old are in the ranks.

They drove the piles into the ground, but all askew, out of place -

The scapegraces did their best to build the Ass City.

The governor rejoices - he stole a lot of money,

And an agitator writes: "Love The Ass City!"

The crowds of teenagers were recruited by military commissariat

Mass-media frighten everybody by the Fascist Germany

Children breathe glue, there's a stink of factories around,

Studded with dorms the Ass City spends winter.

In Summer the electrical trains take people away to Hell,

There're banners on the streets: "We Love The Ass City!"

Here comes the news, that a skunk-foreigner

is dreaming to destroy the Great Ass City.

A military parade is held here every year on schedule,

We don't need a peace here, and a governor is glad,

A major here is in a nice place, and he doesn't feel the troubles,

He is a candidate of all the unified workers.

On the square for the masses on state holiday

A singer sings a nice refrain: "The Ass is us!"

And a governor is happy, and an electorate is glad,

And an agitator is in business: "We'll Build The Ass City!"

And we almost reached the goal, everything is just about to be understood,

We'll come into the ass by a winding, special way ...