Сектор газа — План

I'm no drunkard and no boozer, Vodka and wine are not for me. I've got an ulcer — I can't get wasted, Though I'd love to, believe me, friends.

So all that's left is shooting up and smoking, Since the doctors banned me from drinking, But good dope comes at a steep price: Poppy, hash, hemp, «Solutan».

Ah-ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah-ah-ah. Ah-ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah-ah.

Everyone tries to get their fix, Everyone's eager to sniff or to drink. Even potty-training toddlers drink — Wish it'd knock some sense into their empty heads. They drink chlorophos and huff gasoline, Or run to the store for cheap booze, Or soak filter paper in brake fluid for the drill, Or brew moonshine just to spite the authorities.

Ah-ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah-ah-ah. Ah-ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah-ah.

But the best high, in my view, is plan, Only it empties your wallet flat. I blew all my cash like the last fool around — Winnie the Pooh was right, it turns out.

See, plan is a terribly tricky thing: Any object — it's either there or it's not, But plan — I just can't grasp the secret: If you've got it... it's gone in no time.

Ah-ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah-ah-ah. Ah-ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah-ah.