We have one guy just fired, now from his office the song of Leningrad speaks out - and I'm all fucked, I'm made of meat, the worst thing that can happen... I'm going to be a pidaras, one of the fellow servants was sent to ask to make it quieter, he approaches, knocks on the door, the fired head lifts and says:
Oh, Volodya, come in, you won’t throw words out of the song.