| I went through all the notes
|
| What is this melody, someone else hears
|
| Below there is a sound tight
|
| I see bitch wet bitches
|
| You are led by the fashionable sound
|
| You fire and fire, who is looking at you
|
| Fuck everyone, the fuss is in the top
|
| Crowds always running
|
| Often hangs on the eyelids by a ton
|
| Nothing depends on you
|
| My Moscow is style
|
| Root Moscow in sour sketches
|
| Bitches hung in the fog
|
| I look at them from below
|
| Snow is falling from the sky, rain is falling
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| And thoughts fall with them
|
| I went through all the notes, went through all the notes
|
| Went through all the notes, notes, notes ...
|
| I went through all the notes, went through all the notes
|
| Went through all the notes, notes, notes ...
|
| Went through all the notes, but again by
|
| Past your uppercuts, grab greens in clinch and avalanche
|
| Both the spirit is weak and the language is long - that's what has become mainstream
|
| Kids are hyped, I'm ashamed. |
| Where is dad, what will he give them?
|
| Not a preacher and not in the right to teach you, but
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| You threw your honor without looking at the scales (bitches!)
|
| Pseudo-Muscovites - semi-pokers and Gs
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| You, like babies, must be guarded over the abyss in the rye
|
| God give them strength
|
| Don't drown in lies
|
| Went through all the notes
|
| Bathed in nostalgia again
|
| I went through all the notes, went through all the notes
|
| Went through all the notes, notes, notes ... |