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Александр Матов - Три танкиста

He sat there stirrin’ his whiskey slow,
Lines on his face told stories untold.
Said, “Son, I see you starin’ at that phone,
Let me tell you ‘bout the nights I spent alone.”
Had a woman who loved me, but I let her down,
Chased the money, never stayed around.
By the time I saw what I had to lose,
She was gone, and I had nothin’ to choose.
If I could turn back time, I’d hold her close,
Tell my boy I love him, never let him go.
I’d pick up the phone, call my old man,
Tell my mama I miss her while I still can.
Don’t wait ‘til you’re lookin’ back,
Live each day like it’s your last.
I had a son, Lord, he had my name,
But I was too busy to show him the way.
Now he’s grown, got kids of his own,
But he don’t call, and I know why, son.
Lost my friends one by one,
Guess a man’s gotta give just to keep someone.
Had a family, had a life, had it all in my hands,
But I let it slip like grains of sand.
If I could turn back time, I’d hold her close,
Tell my boy I love him, never let him go.
I’d pick up the phone, call my old man,
Tell my mama I miss her while I still can.
Don’t wait ‘til you’re lookin’ back,
Live each day like it’s your last.
He looked at me with a faraway stare,
Said, “Son, don’t wait ‘til the world don’t care.
Love ‘em now, don’t let pride win,
‘Cause time don’t give second chances, my friend.”
If I could turn back time, I’d hold her close,
Tell my boy I love him, never let him go.
I’d pick up the phone, call my old man,
Tell my mama I miss her while I still can.
Don’t wait ‘til you’re lookin’ back,
Live each day like it’s your last.


If I Could Turn Back Time

A Southern outlaw gospel for the damned and divine.

From the haunted backroads of redemption to the fiery chaos of meth-lab miracles, “Hellbent & Holy” is a genre-splittin’, soul-rippin’ country storm.

13 hard-hittin’ tracks dripping in moonshine, broken hearts, rusty pickups, and righteous fury. This album walks the line between God and the Devil — with a shotgun in hand and two wild hearts in the truck bed.

Produced with grit, sung with blood, and driven by pure outlaw energy.

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Михаил Круг

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