Oh God, what a vandal boy you are, your future is bright
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Golden lion's head at the door of the estate carries plans loaded on his neck
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What kind of love is this, sell your land, live in utopia, at peace
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One side of me is flames, the other is community murder, the owners shout: "Get used to it!"
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Vaccinate your hope, what mountains pierce, don't leave it alone, it's worse than trouble
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Buildings on the stone pillow, grief, goodbye when there is no leaving, why?
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My heart is made of flesh and blood, money is my best friend since
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Every inch of shroud is worth every step, blood and grief killed the brave man!
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Give them ten years, let them eat overnight on the silicone breast of twenty years
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Call it "Right!" |
They say, scumbags, get up with dementia, come on, young generation!
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Look at the situation, artificial foods, those beautiful seasons you can't live
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No more, a dark age we are left to despair
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Live and die, move this stone
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don't ask me a question
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Don't get sick, no medicine
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Buy it close to the shroud, after a year, don't spend it, talk less
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Don't complain shut up, always push your pocket (force)
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A short life is so tormented, this system says hard
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So many questions stuck in my head
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What am I here for, they shot my hope
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The end of the road will be troublesome
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We're born to the grave, that's it for every human being
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It feeds on ignorance, moreover, it creates personality.
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A night like the world, a day, psychology, Hormuz with ten husbands
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Who ate too much? |
Who is full? |
Babies grow up without playing ping pong
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The hand moves, there is no penny in the pocket, but capitalism makes you count money every day
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Say, work for what you want to have for years, then woe
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Resentful mirrors, purple under eyes, alcohol is always a consultant
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There is always bloody conflict around, why can't the land and the white make peace?
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Get out of this mountain with a wound, kid, don't lick it, question it!
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A skeptical little wolf that comes and grabs you
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Adding it to the flood and sinking it deep, the system is just that!
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He taunts your day, night, word, syllable, but says «This is the habit!»
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A nasty cyst, a horde of people, if the body is not empty, the soul
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Who will the bullet hit? |
Burn your arrogance and let the game you spoiled continue
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Mashallah, your bomb is very nice, you made it all flat.
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I have a blunt bayonet and a pen but it doesn't change the world
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Doesn't make the dream pink, exile every hour, every day! |