The punch! The punch! Again the punch!
One more punch! What the heck!
Boris Butkeyev (Krasnodar)
Is going to attack.
He shoved me in the corner,
I almost moved my head,
But he attacked - Iím on the floor,
And I am feeling bad.
And Butkeyev thought while hitting my gums:
Itís good to live, and lifeís also good.
The count is "seven," Iím on the floor,
The countrymen are in tears.
I get up, dive, try to escape -
And points are going to me.
Isnít it true, Iím saving my strength
Until the end of the game?
Iím not used to hitting people
Since childhood. What a shame!
But Butkeyev thought while crushing my ribs:
That itís perfect to live, and lifeís also good.
Whistles among the judges:
"Get him, heís a coward!" No hopes.
Butkeyev goes into a close fight,
Iím pressing against the ropes.
But he got through, heís Siberian,
Theyíre stubborn while they hit.
And I told him: "Listen, fool,
Youíre tired, rest a bit."
But he didnít listen, he breathed all the way:
Itís perfekt to live, and lifeís also good.
And heís beating out my brains!
The trouble is in sight.
Boxing is a sport for the valiant,
It isnít just a fight.
He hit me once, twice, three times,
And lost all of his strength.
The referee raised my other arm,
With which I didnít hit.
He lay on the floor, thinking life is so good.
To some it is good, but to some it is crude.