How to play rain dance maggie on guitar
The Adventures Of Rain Dance Maggie - Chords Easy - Red Hot Chili Peppers (Version 1)
Tone: [Em]
[Intro]
[Em] [C] [Em] [C]
[Verse]
[Em]Lipstick junkie be funky[C]funky all he want
sh[Em]she came back wearing a smil[C]smile
Lo[Em]Look-alike someone drug me
they wa[C]wanted to unplug me
[Em]No one in here is on t[C]trial
Its just a turn-around
[Em]And we go
[C]Oh
well and w[Em]we go
Oh oh oh [E]oh
[Em]Tic-toc, I want to r[C]rock you like the 80s
Co[Em]Cock-blocking isn’t allow[C]allowed.
[Em]Tug boat sheila is i[C]into memorabilia
[Em]Who said three is a [C]crowd?
We better get it on the go
[Chorus]
[G]Hey, n[Em]now
We've gotta m[G]make it rain some[Em]somehow
[C]She told me too
And [Bm]show me what to do
Oh Ma[Am]Maggie makes it in her cl[D]cloud
I said , [G]hey, n[Em]now
We gotta [G]make it rain some[Em]somehow
[C]She told me too
And show [Bm]me what to do
She k[Am]knows how, to make it [D]loud
[Verse]
[Em]Rain dance maggie adva[C]advances to the final
[Em]Who knew that she had the[C]the goods?
[Em]Little did I know
her body was[C]was one delicious vinyl
[Em]To your neck of the[C]the woods
I want to lick a little bit
[Chorus]
[G]Hey, n[Em]now
We’ve gotta [G]make it rain some[Em]somehow
[C]She told me too
And sho[Bm]show me what to do
Oh Maggie [Am]makes it in her cl[D]cloud
[Solo]
[Em] [C]
You got the w[Em]wrong gir[C]girl
But not for l[Em]long gir[C]girl
Its in a so[Em]song gir[C]girl
Cos I’ll be g[Em]gone gi[C]girl
[G]Hey, n[Em]now
We’ve gotta [G]make it rain some[Em]somehow
[C]She told me too
And sh[Bm]show me what to do
Oh Maggie [Am]makes it in her c[D]cloud
I said
[G]Hey n[Em]now
I want to ro[G]rock this valley c[Em]crowd
[C]She told me to
And tol[Bm]told me what to do
She kno[Am]knows how to make it[D]it loud
[Outro]
[Em]But[C]But n[Em]not [C]for longer
Its in a song girl
Cos I’ll be gone bye bye yeah
bye bye, girl
bye bye, girl
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All poems by Yuri Berdan
- Prodigal Son
- God's voice
- Cherries
- It is not the plans of enemies that are dangerous to the state
- Yes, the word was at the beginning. ..
- Stripped to the thread
- Goodbye dream!
- Lake house
- A woman is standing on the shore…
- Youth is making noise behind the wall
- For famine, pestilence, war
- Domes sparkled with gold
- Interesting palette
- What a day! Crazy blue. ..
- Rock, scissors, paper
- Chinese spy climbed the fence
- Red calendar day
- Life somersaults
- My dear! You should go
- My uncle
- Men's game
- My wife and I live for a week
- First snowstorm over the pass
- Injustice
- About the relativity of female beauty
- Autumn in Brooklyn
- Last flight
- Presidential elections today
- September in Odessa
- I'm sitting in the kitchen and thinking about
- Simulacra, versions, remakes
- By chance or to spite us
- Lighthouse Keeper
- Dance by the sea
- Dances in vocational school No. 5
- Geography lesson
- Fata Morgana
- The more gray hair I have
- Black in the soul...
- I am hardened by fate in harsh everyday life
- I bought a ticket, see to
- I am a man. I didn't show
- January was rainy, April was frosty. ..
Prodigal Son
I have returned. Hurry, as in God's temple.
My city ached in me in the evenings
And for so many years in the morning childhood was a dream!
I wandered through the jungle and mountains,
Montmartrem, Brighton Beacham, north a m,
And here - well, not a damn thing has changed!
Behind the wall the same goon beats his wife,
Gave me a hangover, a bitch, so...
There is a lawlessness of Caucasian clans on the market,
Comfort in the yard for eight asses
And urethra.
I am not an expert on women, but not a layman -
I can't believe my eyes: Zoya, is that you?!
Why have I been cherchet la femme all my life
With a bust size of at least four?
.0004
Why did you say “I love you” to an American?
And I "Oh, yes!" it answered.
It would be better to look at the courtyard through the window,
And on Saturdays with a friend in the meadow
I drank beer from a five-liter can
And I would fuck my friend Zoya, but
And kissed juicy, like in a movie
But no one gives a damn about these subtleties,
How do I like the geometry of Euclid,
Like the Lord on the fact that Stalin is a nit,
Like everyone else on the fact that - in God-soul-mother! –
Antarctica is melting.
I'm here again. Came to die
From cancer, depression and AIDS.
to the list
God's voice
Now, if I'm lying, I'll burn on the spot!
Seventeen years ago, having bought a ring for the bride
0004
But two villas, a yacht, and during the test
Sixes and twenty faces of guards),
I turned to God: “A matter of honor!
I know that you have a lot of worries,
But very urgently you need two hundred bucks
A girl I know Marina for an abortion.
I have my salary in a week.
Of course, you can borrow from your brother,
But there is a binge. At least howl over him, at least sing...
Such a vice! What's the use of being drunk?
Dad has a pension and his best friend is a player,
And there is no blasphemy in the bank…
Force, so to speak, major - it's not her fault.
But you can't wait. You yourself came up with the term!
God did not help. God was very indignant:
“Oh, boy, you are not living positively…
You slept with Katz’s wife on Wednesday,
Yesterday you hit your neighbor in the eye with a swing,
Didn’t pay tax last year,
Your obscene word last blog -
I'm sorry, it's disgusting to read it!”
He did not say out loud, he said intuitively:
The Lord, as they say, God will not,
Join with me - who am I, who is he! – into a conversation
Or, to put it scientifically, into a dialogue.
Well, in general, out, fifth corner, traffic…
Yes, it was a temptation, but I thought – what the hell!
Maestro Satan is my soul,
Like stew for dinner for an oligarch.
She gives him a thrill to the fibers
0002 Or the people of hockey and vers libre.
It would be, say, a kidney or a scrotum -
This is a strain for a transplant.
And what about the soul? Ether, rustle of silk…
As dad says: wrong caliber.
In short, everyday life: love-carrots… Routine.
It didn't work out, so don't climb into the loop!
Farewell, freebie, raspberry-spread...
Again - by eight native plant,
On Sundays - vegetable garden,
And a sandwich from Riga sprats,
And margarine cream in the cake…
What is the picture at the moment?
As my old dad says: tough!
Handsome son, meter eighty-six,
Sixteen years old, athlete. Not a son - a showcase!
And the light in my window is my wife Marina.
You never know... You can't count everything.
God did not help, he sent me, a cretin,
And by this he saved my love and honor.
God, fate, fate - under every word mine ...
Mullah, priest, priest and rabbi's father-in-law
They told me that this is how it is,
And it's better for me not to get into this jungle.
to the list
cherries
from the sunset of Durey,
Speak of Nelzhensk words,
I ruble cherry trees ...
NOT “Cherry Garden”, but only two.
Old, barren, lame...0004
Guitar sound, choral songs,
Whispers, laughter and other garbage.
Two straps on the way to paradise,
The splash of the river, the tantrum of the cricket...
I remove the eyewitnesses of paradise
By order of the personal Cheka.
That's it! The last wave and "oops!" –
Trunks on the ground. It's dark in the village.
So, philosopher, let's wipe the snot:
Tomorrow we'll get up again at six. Affairs.
I don't know if it's an accident or more:
Dates, meetings, destinies, names...
Well, the pupils are the color of ripe cherries
Are you looking at the June night in me?
back to the list
* * *
It is not the plans of enemies that are dangerous to the state,
But brain drain to other powers.
The country will be empty: there will be no number of
Russians - a maximum of two hundred thousand ...
Every brain, he's a bastard, flows abroad
Together with the reproductive organ.
to the list
* * * *
At first there was a word ...
Gospel of John
Yes, the word was at first . ..
No one remembered the date, the date, the date, the date, the date, the date, the date,
But, judging by the result,
It would be better if they kept silent. To the list0004
Complete mess.
back to list
Goodbye dream!
I'll take it and get drunk. And lie down against the wall.
No, not in the bedroom, but in the square, in front of everyone.
Or, damn it, I want - and for money
I'll spend the night with a bad woman.
Marias, Juans frolic to the guitar,
A Kazakh, free as a song, roams the steppes.
I'll take it, I'll smoke marijuana
In the gateway, up to white angels in the eyes.
It’s only bad for me to drink - I’ll immediately throw off my hooves.
Lie against the wall? I'm different homeless people!
I don't know how to smoke... Baba? Afraid of AIDS.
I'll sit and sink. .. Goodbye, dream! The house by the lake
House, lake, October, Pennsylvania -
Seven thousand miles from myself.
Neither I nor he loves me.
Who is right, who is not, let God judge us.
The fireplace crackles, the rain hits the windows.
Hot coffee. St. Bernard at the feet.
And I just need a little bit to be happy:
October, the lake, the fireplace and me - nobody's,
So that the dog and the rain don't stop nearby,
And coffee, damn it, hot!
to list
* * *
A woman stands on the shore…
The screen glows smoky red -
News: Boeing was blown up at night.
The remaining shreds of me
Scattered over a dozen countries.
The kitchen smells of tea and stew,
The soft twilight of heated rooms.
The woman doesn't remember me for a long time.
Nobody on the snow shore ...
to the list
* * *
Behind the wall,
from the screen - weather summary:
will end on Friday rain,
We ran out of vodka today.
They sing randomly behind the wall -
Well, what to take from her, from the youth!
Every second one is blue…
The snack is over too.
How did we sing? In unison!
And they lived quietly and meekly…
Someday everything will end,
Today we ran out of vodka.
to the list
* * *
For the fact that hunger, pestilence, war,
burned the cities, did not take prisoners,
,for five thousand years, there has been faults,
as a tick, as a tick, as a tick, as a tick, as a tick, as a tick, as a tick, as a tick. in my biblical genes.
Not me, a disenfranchised sad god -
A place to shreds, clods of mat,
Not my boots in the morning at the door -
Snow, moat, firing squad . ..
washing in the camp dust
of two -faced rats - enemies of the people ...
into the window gloom - “went to the front” -
,Visit July December ...
I am not the lines of young companies
on mines. Why am I ashamed?
I did not press the "Start" button:
A second - and Kashirka will flash.
I did not wait for the Kursk submarine
to reconcile with fate and calm down.
But did I give the order
Dispassionately, as in training,
Release lethal gas that night -
Whom to spare? - into the hall on Dubrovka ...
The span of the bridge flies from the supports,
A moment - and methane will explode in the adit ...
It was not I who ordered to shoot at close range
From tanks in the Beslan school.
Didn't spoil, didn't make friends with scum,
Didn't humiliate, didn't betray. Exactly!
I wasn't there, didn't live that day. ..
What do I have to do with it? Why am I so sick?
Through the rockfall, along the mountains of decay
The path to the source is steep and uneven.
A hundred thousand times more - not me!
What's the difference? Guilty!
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* * *
Domes sparkled with gold,
Music sounded over the city:
For some, the beginning meant,
For others, it was a farewell.
Go out into the snow. Fall to the ground. Nit...
Just like that. Who cares!
So this autumn flew by
Red flock of migratory birds.
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* * *
An interesting palette:
I told him “half a litre”.
He wrinkled his brow:
“Well, half a liter... Why?”
Crazy - not crazy: glossy outside ...
However, maybe a foreigner.
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* * *
What a day it was! Crazy blue...
A tablecloth in a clearing. May Saturday.
Wine, guitar, laughter... And we are with you
On a black-and-white photo, slightly crumpled.
I am a builder of hydroelectric power stations and dams,
And I'm a shirt guy! Own on the board!
And I'm in a Chinese body shirt “made in”
In orange, it seems, stripes.
Under the sun, among the rustle of aspens,
Not understanding ourselves a bit,
We squint, hugging each other,
Long before the arrival of our winters,
At the end of a stunning May.
And you are laughing, and a strand is over your eyebrow,
And I am unshaven and slightly puffy...
It won't be long before mothers die,
Do not pretend not to lie yet
And there are no words or dates on the back.
What am I screaming about? What am I silent about?
Why is execution work in oneself! –
Every minute I bury something
And put a funeral candle…
On a black and white photo, slightly crumpled
My spring – I want azure and gilding –
Her cheek pressed against my shoulder…
nothing else.
to list
Rock, paper, scissors
The sound of a foreign train…
“Everything is great! - he writes to me in a personal, -
No longing ... almost in me, no bitterness.
Only now they interfere with sleep, bastards, -
They stifle brandy behind the wall until night
Two sisters, two alcoholics.
They plow as nurses in a hospital.”
“My husband drove me to the office at nine today.
Drink high, Colombian coffee with
Warm, like the Maldives, croissant.
Today I'm with Maggie and Hassan
I'm preparing manuals for the programs.
Everything is ok, ”I write to him in a personal message.
Indian summer over red Paris,
And in New Jersey it's raining on the roofs.
Why are we all writing to each other, writing!
Out of a whim, out of habit?
Emails, chats, messengers, personals.
to list
* * *
Chinese spy climbed the fence,
Stole a device from the Pentagon
Secret extraordinarily
With the inscription: “Made in China”. November, the seventh. Bad weather.
A neighbor came in. We drank a hundred each:
- The coup of the seventeenth year.
– What would happen if it were not...
– I know what!
Fidelity and sedition in the execution pits
They won’t lie in a row from point-blank shots ...
Will not fall in love at the Komsomol congress
Don't sound a signal shot that night
Above the cold October Neva -
And it will not be! And do not count who survived
In a pitch-black impossible world. ..
The clerk does not write a death note,
Dawn over Babi Yar is quiet and pure...
Will not meet a young signalman in Prague
My father is an artillery lieutenant.
Neither the KGB, nor Stalin, nor the coup...
And if that garbage hadn't happened in Russia,
Life on Earth would, of course, be better.
Only one thing is bad: there would be no me. I loved this woman0004
If you hit - never in the face:
After all, my love, after all!
And one day she suddenly disappeared,
My friend disappeared with her.
According to random rumors,
Flew away with a friend,
To a mine beyond the Arctic Circle.
This woman is no more,
A friend has not been my friend for a long time - forgotten!
Motorcycle rotted in the garage.
I sit in the kitchen at night. Poured.
These are the somersaults of everyday life.
to the list
* * *
“My dear! You should go,
Having determined the semantics of the moment,
Along a non-ambivalent path. ..»
Well, yes, I sent... But how intelligent!
back to the list
My uncle
I cook for myself: diet, sauna, sports
0004
He does not protect his health at all.
He eats things that are even harmful to a young man,
And he drinks whatever you give him,
And sleeps three times a week with a girlfriend,
Not just nearby, but for real.
He is bald and short,
Belly, wrinkles… And his eyes squint.
He was ninety on Saturday,
And I will be fifty in July.
Recently he took a promise from me,
Having eaten a sandwich after a glass of lard,
That I will mark him in my will,
And he will clean up my grave.
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Men's game
Tired fire was showered with ashes.
My friend and I cut up a dead elk. ..
And the nerve stars danced in the lake,
And the night was windy, moonlit and evil.
When will you forget, predator-night!?
Men's game. Blood on fingers. Hunting.
And the one I love is hugging someone,
And their three-year-old daughter is sleeping behind the wall.
And the longing on the elk lip froze,
And the black meat spun over the heat,
Ah, the night! Oh, you're a bitch! And I wanted revenge,
I wanted ruthless revenge for myself!
For the fact that my shot could not help me -
In vain the bullet that crushed the spine ...
For the amusing muttering of "daddy!"
Not for me, falling asleep, three-year-old daughter.
It's getting late. All in vain... At least pray, at least God!
Whether I'm alive or not is for her by the way...
Knives on the boulder we sharpen in a sweeping manner
And again we torment our recent life.
The night looks out the window, the eye is a clumsy penny.
Wrong night, different.... And I want revenge:
Hemlock, bonfire and shooting on the spot
For everything that once happened wrong.
to list
* * *
My wife and I live for a week
In a five-star hotel.
Sea. Breeze. Blue.
Ass, tits - beach. Spring.
Drink - fill up. Eat - from the belly.
Mamba rumble. Blues passion.
SPA. Jacuzzi. Towels.
Three natives on two snouts -
Bent at the waist.
Not smiles, but salutes.
Masks, dances, palm trees, llamas.
Heaven on earth. Teplyn. Bahamas.
I have a dream in that paradise,
Strange, vague, not in the stream.
Do not interrupt, do not overcome:
August. River. Coast. Night.
Sky - starry worlds.
Vodka. Sprats. Mosquitoes.
Fire crackle. Palm. Guitar.
The steam leaves in the darkness.
The light in the pupils dances like a devil.
Loops, buttons, knots...
Bahama beach yellow
I eat whiskey cake,
I warm old moss.
to the list
* * *
Above the Pass the first blizzard -
In the doorway of the red volunteered dress ...
Savior My Savior Motel,
Cozy, like female arms.
Tea, dried apricots and slices of pie,
And what then - we will only tell God ...
No friend, no beloved, no enemy.
The son grew up, the house was built, the garden was planted.
Repented, repaid debts. Almost...
I'll cut the cheese, fill the glass with wine.
I didn't take an oath, but still forgive me
Because I don't remember your hands and lips.
My thirty-year war
Ended in a shameful peace in me. ..
The soul is silent, the taste of wine is tart,
Cheese is refined... And it smells of fresh soap.
to list
Injustice
Everyone knows: there were famous poets in the history of the planet
Their names are imprinted
On plates and bright signs,
On avenues and alleys in parks,
On poles, on walls and on arches,
On postcards and postage stamps,
Various types and sizes.
But one last name is not there:
Not in the names of rivers and planets,
It is not at the entrance, not at the entrance
In Chernivtsi, New York and Ashdod,
It is not there in any weather 9000 2 On a pole, fence, vegetable garden,
There is none, in general, in wildlife,
Neither the flower is named like that, nor the worm ...
What a pity: after all, I, it seems,
Poet-conceptualist.
It makes my soul feel bad,
But I won’t shoot myself with a revolver,
I blame the world for ingratitude… chandelier, sofa back,
Tiles in the kitchen, toilet and bathtub
They were named after me.
to the list
About the relativity of female beauty
And it was necessary to blurt out (what a cretin!):
“You, Zhanka, are not Scheherazade in face,
But you have something else - TNT,
For example, the shape of the hips. Easier - ass.
Another thing - Tanya... Good!
I'm torn apart by feelings for her like a tank...
Zhanka also has gold - her soul
And a demon in her pupils. But this is a trifle, however.
My compliment was her finest hour:
“There are no busties on the course, Zhanka!”
And the heart’s memory is a sunny moment,
When a curly-haired cop took his elbow:
“Let’s go, interesting citizen. ..”
The sea was noisy, leaves were falling,
Zhanka’s life was varied04
And there were even two in her once,
In a dream, but - stunning orgasms!
Cupid never saved arrows for a lifetime,
Darkness and darkness of admirers went under their execution...
Ah, yes! I also looked like this on the beach
Either a Yakut, or, in general, a Japanese!
------------------------------------------
Came with work. Feed the cat.
Opened the window: spring evening - a miracle!
How wonderful this world is!
But still a little bit unfair.
Shining with a ruby bracelet,
The sunset has died. One more and that's it!
Patterns of headlights in the night space of the walls,
And memory fades - spots, spots, spots ...
All my life I fell in love with beautiful bitch,
and how it ended - it is clear ...
to the list
Autumn in Brooklyn
Yes, what's wrong with me!? Is the song sung?
Or has there never been pigeons in the sky?. .
Indian ... in short, Indian summer,
Grazing pigeons on the sidewalk,
And, reflected in the gloss of the parapet,
A woman is walking slowly into the subway.
How peacefully I lived! Haven't been in gunfights,
Didn't fall off a cliff, didn't freeze in the woods,
Didn't drink brake fluid while hungover,
Didn't publicly beat a scoundrel's face...
Why do I need this strand, - salt and ashes -
Flying on a woman's face?!
Why is October a fire in Brooklyn?
Wander into the forest through the snow at dawn,
Come up to her, for a sleepless night, please,
Cut the bastard, burn the poems in the fire!
Decide on something for once, please,
Now, today, this October...
Or shut up. Silence is also a thing!
Everything for the first time, and everything, like life, is old:
And what boiled, sang and hurt,
And the cave inside of the evil nights,
And I, looking stunned in the crowd,
Like a woman descends into the subway .
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Last flight
The platform was noisy. There were many couples
Crowd and separately.
The whistle was screaming, steam was swirling,
The green train,
Ringing with blind windows,
Knocking on the rails,
Rushed away in happiness without me
Last flight
Fate seemed to be nonsense,
Girlfriends stole
They loved me sometimes,
But more often they lied.
Heat, light, water in the pipe,
One hundred grams for dinner.
Everything is generally so-so.
Could be worse.
back to the list
* * *
Today is the presidential election,
But I won't go - Veronica is undressed.
And tomorrow is a labor day rally.
But Valya promised to come at nine.
That's how it always wins in me
Civil maturity - sexual.
to the list
September in Odessa
The last smile of the stewardess,
And the Boeing froze, calming the trembling.
Well, hello, Odessa airport!
September day. High season. Rain.
He is not a surprise: he was promised by the forecast,
And pour him four more days.
Oh my God! Full of beautiful women,
And not a single one to meet me!
.
Suddenly lucky and meet this couple –
She is seventeen, he is timid and nosy –
Walking along the sea along the boulevard,
Holding hands, forty years ago.
back to list
* * *
I'm sitting in the kitchen and thinking about...
It doesn't matter... The curtains are drawn.
So people want to do good!
Go and hang yourself, or what?
to list
* * *
Simulacra, versions, remakes
Joy, suffering and passion…
Summer afternoon. In the park on a bench
Old Prometheus is warming his bones.
How they beat a slave with a whip,
How they torture a witch on fire -
News soaked in death,
Tearing my insides to pieces.
The echo of trains that didn't come,
Distant laughter of children who have not grown up…
Blind-deaf-infirm, lucky man,
Prometheus is dozing in a summer park.
to the list
* * *
by chance or we will spite us,
as a beast with fur,
In the morning the city brought
,last snow.
It was quiet at noon and the city was white
And the sky is blue…
Lips yearn for you
Unbearable.
There is neither calm nor wave in me…
As if carved in stone
A trace of unhealed guilt –
Through, right through.
Sclerosis… God of the Carpathians is getting old:
Mirage and delusions –
And that last snowfall,
And the taste of copper.
back to list
Lighthouse Keeper
I'm climbing the steep stairs,
Tired of losses, hopes, chases...
Above the furious white foam surf
I light a fire in the lighthouse.
And rushing about in the captivity of cast-iron rods
Burnt to the ground once again
My soul is a night crossroads
Crazy pitch ocean tracks.
She beats against the bars like a burning seagull...
I burn her into ashes every year:
What if, through a storm, this beam breaks through
My fate is a midnight ship.
Above the black, above the raging expanse
The lighthouse is burning... I understand - in vain:
Watercraft now go by instruments -
The light of my lights is up to them.
to the list
Dance by the sea
In Lloret de Mare in the coastal bar
Tango -tango pairs are dancing . ..
September over the world, over the sea of midnight.
Once he was for us - do you remember? –
Not just an old beautiful dance,
But a starburst - a prominence!
Was a dance of rebellion and taming,
Our farewells, your forgiveness...
Was a dance of passion - crazy, springy,
And your pinnacle of female power.
Beautiful, right, we are dancing... Bravo!
A third of the sky over the Costa Brava!
But this dance is of a different nature,
Now of a different kind and rank:
We are dancing a dance of departure - tango.
to the list
Dances at vocational school No. 5
Cavaliers where? Assholes!
Vovka, Slavka, Sing, ay! ..
“Dances-shmantsy-zazhimantsy”
Number five of vocational school.
Tons of snow piled up -
The microdistrict became white.
Cooked by Aunt Tonya
Half a pot of pasta.
At seven the neighbor Ira came,
She brought a cake for tea.
Above the sideboard is a map of the world.
Not in the commander's apartment,
Only the cat Miron, a bully.
In general, women's affairs.
Was Valera, well, cholera,
Turned out to be a bastard.
Popped in at eight Vera
Sit before the night.
Two herrings, tomatoes…
They say that salt brings evil.
Death in Baghdad, a storm in the sea -
How much grief, girls, in the world,
And here we are, not nonsense,
While eating, in warmth, space,
Something to remember. Lucky.
Eating port wine in the corner, bastards!
Faces to one side, sweaty foreheads…
Rock and roll, prominences,
Tired chest, glossy nails –
Dancing in the fifth vocational school.
Between the chairs, in the middle,
The cat Miron thinks in silence.
On the wall is a landscape of Chukotka,
There are color photographs on the table,
And there are three pullets on the photo,
Tea, not ugly, not freaks:
Son on a nuclear submarine,
Garden - four acres ...
Half a pot of pasta.
to the list
geography lesson
I stand at the world map,
I have a shower:
I pooping past
of these very sashea ...
9000
Net to the poquet –
Such a sharp stick.
Why do I need Texas and Alaska?
And New York, what do I need them for?
Look how free it is here:
Riga, Minsk, Tashkent, Baku!
Our mymra Sarah Lvovna
In America - cuckoo!
And without them, dressed and shod.
I don't give a damn about their Hudsons -
I'd like to see what's here!
Sakhalin, Caucasus, Kuriles,
Rivers, mountains, cities…
Smoked in the toilet,
Discussed who goes where.
I have planned Crimea for myself:
Warm climate, cool beach…
Brighton Beach. December. Wind.
Eighteenth floor.
to list
Fata Morgana Fata Morgana. Whirling
At the speed of the twenty-sixth frame:
There is nothing - the beginning is only tomorrow.
There is only the abyss of waters, the firmament of the earth…
No grief, no smiles, no passion,
No birdsong, no dreams in early March,
No stars and no sky - nowhere to look,
And tell about my life and death
The local Kassandra still can't.
And I am nothing, and there is no way to call me...
The plane tree has not yet grown near the house,
And with the firstborn, who fell asleep in her arms,
Madonna does not wait for me until the first stars.
No bombs, no bullets. Ships don't sink.
Neither the horror of the Holocaust, nor the messiah,
Neither the starry days, nor the black years of Russia…
The firmament of the earth has not yet been buried
Neither dollars, nor euros, nor rubles,
Nor the ashes of the “twins” and Hiroshima,
And serenely young and strongStill not suffocating from love -
Inhuman, unbearable.
All ahead: hope-truth-lie,
A moment that lasted hundreds of lives -
Grandmother's brooch on a white blouse
And the bashfulness of a girl's bra,
And the shy tremor of the first lips,
And the parting lips of the north.
Beyond the pass, where there is horror and war,
The storm will go away, blazing in the middle of the sky.
There, over the Hungry Steppe, a veil -
Brown dust, a deaf wall,
And dim, like a revolving fixation,
A narrow-eyed moon will hang
Above the crazy glow of Shanghai.
And the lilac will smoke in the courtyards,
And recklessly we will believe in good,
And the evening will howl with a thousand sirens
And it will jump on Manhattan like a red beast.
Still to hear that crazy spring
Sounding from the Dome organ
The impassivity of the dunes and the fury of the hurricane,
And tenderness interspersed with gray hair,
not to be. Fata Morgana.
to list
* * *
The more gray hair I have,
The more often I sleepless nights
I ask myself a stupid question
And I answer it by dawn.
- Why are you, sir, mediocre and so gray?
Well, why aren't you Pushkin? Not Dante?
- I lived in the USSR for a very long time,
And that's why I couldn't develop my talents.
What a chic goon in me is dying!
Cars, chicks, restaurant din…
Sprouted unexpectedly on his bones
Bespectacled book lover, fucking romantic.
What a cool dog in me died!
He would have known how juicy the taste of slaps,
Like a woman's hip, a sharp bend
Insidiously and mercilessly vicious.
What a poet was crushed in me!
Like a ripe tomato with a foot in the garden…
My extraordinary inclinations
Left on the Internet and in a notebook.
And that's good, because it's not,
As they say, covered in shit
For shocking, for showing off and whores,
For rhymes, paths, sighs in the moonlight...
But who am I? Chauffeur. And the bribes are smooth,
Nobody cares what is inside and outside ...
At least with this, thank God, everything is in order. to the list0002 No money and friends, problems - a mountain.
Buy clothesline and soap...
Pip on your tongue! It's time to wash.
back to list
* * *
But what and how - I won't say that!
to list
* * *
I bought a ticket to see
Women's sprint for the European Championship.
Finish! Champion ahead!
But just a little: just half the chest.
It turned out to be a sprinter from Poland:
She is two sizes larger. I am a man. I didn't show it,
But I was very close to suicide.
In this regard, I do not want at all
Add your mournful mite.
On Monday I went to the doctor,
What's on my nerves - to a psychotherapist.
He said: “My dear, you are in vain!
Everything passes, and it will pass with you.
Repeat: oh, how beautiful life is!
You will be healthy in a year.”
My wife has a lover, my friend Fedya,
The daughter is a whore, the son is in prison,
The house burned down. In addition, on Wednesday
the Chief kicked me out of the service. Parasite!
And the surgeon sighed: "I'll have to cut...
I can't give big guarantees:
If you don't pull, but cut briskly,
I'll save my other leg."
Aloud and silently - variously,
At night, in the morning, during the day - when I'm not sleeping,
I repeat: “Life, how beautiful you are!
How happy I am! How I love everyone!
back to list
* * *
January was rainy, April was frosty.