| I went wandering, looking for a job
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| not accepted anywhere, bastards!
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| sent in the ass
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| And I, finally. |
| wanted to take over.
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| I'll go and get a job as a fucking guard in the tsum!
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| but it wasn't there, they shaved me
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| where I have not been
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| I was told all the time we don't accept
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| to the work of vagrants, with such an education of medium sharags,
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| but I, like everyone else, want to have a salary
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| so that at home, do not roll cotton wool into a blunt
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| I want to give gifts to chicks,
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| and at work, bitch, just zaparochki
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| hey, who's the boss here?
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| what is this crap?!
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| boys' pockets don't warm babos
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| I once realized, I'm a fucking designer,
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| and there are so many of them, bitch, and all the places are occupied
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| then I decided to go to work in a bank,
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| there is a hell of a lot of money, I have enough for a tank,
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| but again 25, with a razor in the beard
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| Batin's tie didn't help, education!!!
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| e-e-e another refusal, we don’t take work, she tells me.
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| two times per face control of any
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| I wanted to get settled, they sent me rudely
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| fucking pump, what the fuck?
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| there are chickens in my pocket, they don't peck babos
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| hey who is that boss?
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| what the hell is this?!
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| Unas it doesn't warm your pockets! |