The professionals’
salary is so tremendous,
It doesn’t matter, whether they spit their teeth on ice.
They are paid huge money,
tens of thousands,
Even for losing and even for a tie.

The player’s artful -
takes on the whole team,
And hits the opponent’s teeth with his foot...
And as a result
his legs get broken,
And instead of a stick, he walks with a crutch.

For professional players,
the desperate fellows,
The game is like a lottery - whoever gets lucky.
They play with partners,
like a bull with a matador,
Though a matador really plays with the bull.

Your partner is lying
just like a dead man,
All right, hell with him, let him lie!
Don’t blunder, Bull!
God wants a puck.
God is on the stand there, he won’t forgive.

For professional players
their referee
Is not counting the boxing, and face punching at all!
And who could have coped
with them for twenty years?
It’s like a student fighting with a street gang.

But not long ago
their main trump
Is no longer a trump, but nonsense, that’s all.
And they get beaten
with their own weapons,
Plus they get beaten on ice today.

The professional players
in their Montreal
Can break each other’s noses, we don’t give a damn!
But their representative -
you want, you can ask -
Was bandaged entirely from head to foot.

First the player is open,
and then he’s plastered,
Hut their dumb pastor must blame himself,
Before the battle,
he knew they were weaklings -
The whole team was praying, it didn’t help.

For professional players,
in every channel -
A little or a lot going to the bank.
Hut our Soviet fellows
for that same salary,
Arc beating the living daylights out of them!

Let there be intrigues
right in the top league,
And let hockey be called "Canadian."
So better trust us -
till we meet again, guys,
And soccer players... till better days!