2020.07.30.
I walk around Odessa very slow.
Bazaar no longer the same, old habits are gone,And not the same excitement in *Gambrinus.
New signs on the streets are lit with neon,
Thus, the old ones do not spoil the views.
New supermarket, instead of gastronome,
They trade in food that looks like pure dreck.
And there is no kiosk in which our uncle Syoma
Sold me a glass of fizzy water for a kopek.
Chorus
Order seems to be getting closer to home,
But why my soul is sad, I do not know.
When in the streets I polish old cobblestones
I walk around Odessa very slow.
In *Baba Ooty chickens smell less and less,
Café Pirozhki shut, its shawarma instead.
I am, of course, essentially for progress,
But not in which you are up to your neck in crap.
I’m for Odessa with that good old market place,
Where no one cares about your (status or rank)?
Where *Rose smell of roses and the fish had a taste
And for good luck with friends, we often drank.
Chorus:
I'm for my own, for bread with speck, sliced thin,
For pickle, that smells like real pickle should.
I'm for a sausage, where the meat was missing,
But didn’t make you throw up your food.
I’m for “Sal’ve”* in cardboard pack, for smoking,
For vodka where the bottle cork is sealed with wax.
I’m for beer with *school prawns, not with shrimp,
And not for “How much?”, but “a pochyom u Vas?”
Chorus (x2)