Translated material
Hero of the week. To the farm
Folk ballad
Gennady Petrovich Malakhov
He left without saying goodbye into the darkness,
And a thousand oohs and aahs
The country answers him.
Among the Central Russian plain
The country's favorite has melted.
Its traditional medicine
We will now be deprived.
We're like blind kittens
Or headless horsemen.
Urine-your therapy
Nothing can replace it, alas!
Gennady Petrovich Malakhov,
Fistula and cataract healer!
We crave your gadgets,
And you're breaking the contract.
Destroyed hopes and plans
Your abrupt, sudden departure.
Staring at empty screens
The Fatherland does not drink or eat.
But the hordes of fears disappeared,
FSB lights out -
Gennady Petrovich Malakhov
He went to his farm.
Simple Russian woman
I found the hero in the meadow.
“Why,” he says, “I’m sick of it!”
Damn it,” he says, “I can’t!”
Directorate of "Pervokanal"
Having made a sharp turn,
It finished me off so much
That I am returning to the people."
Malakhov, Gennady Petrovich!
You are a symbol in the people's destiny.
Perhaps you will open the list
Those who fled to their own farm.
It's time for TV faces to change,
To your favorite rumor heroes.
We can still tolerate you
But you can't do it anymore.
Oh, if only Malakhov were in charge,
Sad screen playboy
Having fucked the motherland for years,
I went after you!
Malakhov's cunning manner
Your horde will scatter.
Malakhov! You became a pioneer
The movements of stars to nowhere.
Get on a car, on a scooter,
Take refuge in the rye and moss,
Go to the farm, to the farm,
To the farm, to the farm, to the fuck...