My neighbor is a man who has traveled widely, In search of what, I cannot say; While I donít like to meddle in other peopleís business I canít help feeling hurt, it bothers me, I am that way. His home is filled with plush and silk, His broad has loads of dresses, skirts, kimonos; I could dig up uranium right here in Moscow, If I could only get his salary and bonus.         The other day, their son, in our communal kitchen Banged his head while coming through the door And smashed, on purpose, I am sure, my bottle... I promptly presented his mother with a bill thatís triple. They are raking in rubles, while I am earning kopeks, So why not request damages, for their bratís fun? Far be it from me to envy them... But I believe that justice should be done... Just wait and see Iíll give them comforts Theyíll soon be moving out, as things get rough. They have money, not knowing what to spend it on While I go without vodka-just canít afford the stuff...
© Misha Allen. Translation, 1971