Текст песни
Yo
Slow lap
Groove in three
Ninety-six, Coutances… rain in wine
We stand on the start line — two guys, one grass
And now jazz will begin…right on the lawn, yeah
I step to the start Coach whispers “You ready?
Next to me Zhenya — not a friend from talk, from embers
Suddenly a bus pulls up
Smells of black sweat
Ten “smoked ones” climb out
Each one like a shell, no reset
We glance at each other “Well, Zhenya… we’re done, brother
Against these guys — we’re kids against panthers, no other
They look sideways Sayin’ white boys aren’t in the scene
But we know Russian drive — it also holds time in jazz’s green
Three hundred meters on the grass
Finish pause where the mud is
Ninety-degree turn — head drifts, barely it buzzes
Zhenya breathes in my back “Move, don’t brake the glass!
I lost to him by two meters
Just twenty through the morass
How many of them, “smoked ones
We left in the dust
When me and Zhenya took second and third
Write it, you must
The gun — I flew
The ground burns under my shoe
Kenyan is first — he flies, doesn’t touch the lawn
But we dig so hard — sparks from our heels are drawn
Left their pack in the dirt — like blots on pages torn
First — theirs
Zhenya — second
Me — third in line
We tear the finish ribbon under the stands’ design
Imagine Russian and Ukrainian — one pair
We made mincemeat out of Africa on that green square
Not gold But bronze and silver sound more like victory
Than any of those sprinters’ smeared-off history
Three hundred meters on the grass — finish where the mud flows
Ninety-degree turn — head spins, and it goes
How many of them, “smoked ones,” we left in the dirt
When me and Zhenya took second and third
Write it, assert
Now I rewind the flashback
Later I came to Slaviansk — that’s a fact
He was running the scene for runners
His athletes’ sabbath
Organized championships, didn’t spare his strength or contacts
Back then we never thought that life would slam our contracts
I look at Luzhniki
Now it’s not running, it’s pop
Leps screams about vodka, tracks wiped out — a flop
In the nineties nobody would’ve noticed our race, that’s true
But in Coutances, me and Zhenya brought the heat a full bar’s worth — me and you
Yo
Friend from Donbas Kenyans Mud and grass
Finish line — for the two of us, pass
We’re not first, but we are fire
Remember, Zhenya? Three hundred meters
And twenty meters behind Forever entire
The beat… fades away
No
The beat doesn’t fade returns
Let thirty years have passed
So much left untold today
People stay silent They know the way
On Donbas they die just to live
Smear of black The smeared-eyed start to see — they forgive? No, they grieve
I know, Zhenya… you’re somewhere on Donbas line
In a hospital — you lift the guys with massage, your hands are fine
I saw their eyes — no decoration, no glass
When with massage pain… you add deeper mass
And in Moscow, in a hospital — they kicked me out
You don’t know about that?
I was in Moscow, in a hospital — putting guys on their feet
And the doctor turned out to be a fascist — cheap
I filed a report to the police
And in Moscow the colonel turned out — unclean, no peace
