Текст песни "Barber", Игорь Саруханов

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This jook joints, 
Are always fool of happy crowds. 
And tipsy wind is driving a herd 
Of tipsy clouds. 
I am so tired 
I lose my fire and cannot find. 
Barber, Barber, Barber, arrange my mind! 
I feel your gase 
It hollers at me! Stop! Come here! 
I like your face 
But I am not for you, my dear. 
I'm a feather brain 
And seems I'll never love again. 
Barber, Barber, Barber, cut off my pain! 
This jook joints 
Are are always fool of pretty girls. 
But I can't stand all those, 
Who calls up on their own. 
You leave my bad, 
You made me shaggy-haired and mad. 
Barber, Barber, Barber, touch up my head!