Not like that
of kulaks
this portrait.
Repainted the fist
and species
and suit.
Kulakov
such
almost no,
changed
fist appearance.
Today
fist
and plows,
and alone
on a tractor
pret, smoking,
he's a bastard
himself
wanders through the forests -
to climb
to the executive committee
in bast shoes.
What a fist he is?!
God have mercy!
Is it him
let's call it a fist?
is he
the first
paid
your tax
and the first
bought a loan.
And the grain is
tucked away
clean and tidy.
Speculate better
in case of hunger.
In him
no laboring,
peasant
best quality.
On a marital status,—
so that it doesn't happen
for nothing
consumable,
every son
getting married in the spring,
and by winter
diverges again.
They plow the field
from seven to seven
seventeen farmhands
under the guise of family.
try
figure out!
other
worker
still immature,
is sitting
under the portrait of Rykov,
and at home
picks his nostril,
being lazy,
taking a nap
and shouting.
Is that work—
fist:
detour —
varnish.
All yards
in care,
damn,
taken into account
selfish accounting:
who is poor
and who is rich,
where is the sheep,
where are the cattle.
In him
on one fathom
seed crops are planted.
On display,
for big-eyed bosses,
and —
I run a farm with culture.
But
still -
tithes
from three-field
wafts of gray hair.
And until this day
our Soviet poor man
shouts
at work
"the depth",
and the newest fist
from the most cultural benefits
I bought
behind the car the car.
'Mother, iron,
I let go.
Hillbilly -
she will go herself.
Will pay,—
get
and let go".
Pleasant face,
gentle eye,
smile
has been on the lips.
Skostit
for a penny
debt from you,
to gut it -
Rs.
Year, another -
and the whole district
into bondage
pulled tight.
Tinder in bows
forehead about́night:
"Pochet
Ivan Panteleimonych".
He's a good guy,
but daughter, Komsomol member,
he's a week
will live from the world.
"Where was?
Tell me clearly!
Stuffed
children
life?»
No government.
The superiors softened
from him
frequent treats.
Not with a sawn-off shotgun
coming towards evening,—
pretending,
that I forgot about the enmity,
with tea
listens to radio speeches -
respected leaders.
Not with a sawn-off shotgun
is
such a guy.
Against the police...
Where are they?!
But to your enemy
Today
crowd
he will spread it
bear lard.
And a horse,
afraid of the bear,
blown up
Togo, who's coming.
dog
is sitting
to his own good.
By the pit,
in the pitch dark,
total
money
and bread,—
and sawn-off shotgun
buried
for the time being.
The fist is operating,
no need to sleep.
Let's be stronger, than crémni.
No sawed-off shotgun
back and forth
don't turn
Soviet era.
Although
fist
repainted his face
and belly
doesn't look heavy -
he is an enemy
and peasants,
and working class,
he should be
understood
and recognized.
There,
where is speech
about personal benefit,
in care
bulging eyes.
There,
where is the belly
hungry,
there
fist
spider legs.
Do not play,
comrade,
peaceful days,
hand over
kindness
into marriage.
friend,
remember:
between us
wielding
class enemy.