It was on the day of rest, and so I hadnít picked a pocket;
On a Sunday, take a break, you get my drift?
Then a whistle blows, Iím grabbed, Iím being called all names, like "bandit",
But one knew me; he cries out "Recidivist!"
"Comrade, donít get in a twist;
Now, hereís my surname - itís Sergeev;
But about Recidivist
There just ainít nothing I can say, guv."
It was on the day of rest, but the Old Bill donít get no leisure;
Theyíve got targets still to make, thatís what theyíre told.
But if they go and overreach them, they get medals they can treasure -
So Recidivist is worth his weight in gold.
Iím politely asked: "You, sit!" -
Then Iím given papirosi.
"So, youíre A Recidivist?
Sign this statement where the cross is!"
It was on the day of rest, that kind of lazy, sunny Sunday;
Everyone was there with friends and family -
But I was sat there feeling bored like on a dull and gloomy Monday;
Then the major spoke official-like to me:
"Now how many times is this?"
"My maths really ainít that great, guv..."
"But youíre A Recidivist?"
"No, chief, my name is Sergeev."
It was on the day of rest, and I was sweating, up the junction,
But the majorís mathematics was just fine;
First he started adding numbers, then he multiplied and crunched íem,
And he said Iíd been convicted now ten times.
The chief handed me a chit;
I put my best mark on that paper
And I wrote: "Recidivist
By the surname of Sergeev."
It was on the day of rest and I was tired, I was punch-drunk,
But one thing I know, yes, one thing warms my heart:
In the filthís seven-year plan to catch the bandits, thieves and such ones
I have also played my modest little part.