The heat of big cities. |
Our days. |
Moscow.
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And even under these scorching rays,
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She does not get tired of mixing visitors with Muscovites.
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Them with us or us with them.
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On the streets, in the squares, on the underground lines,
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In the back seats of blue and white cars
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In the next apartment, in something of a lens.
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Every day weaves the fate of millions,
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Metro stations, cell phones.
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It's a matter of chance, everything that is not done is for the best.
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Weekends, around the clock.
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Someone is lucky, the sucker is richer,
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Jacket on the shoulders from Gucci, keys from the hut.
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And someone is macho, jumping the most, waving his arms
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At the sight of a bunch of shaved, like a bitch runs.
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Chorus:
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The heat melts the city, who plays how,
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By your own rules, by your own scenario.
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Beauty, skyscrapers, clubs, parties,
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Pretty hot, the price of the case is a hundred.
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The heat melts the city, who plays how,
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By your own rules, by your own scenario.
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Beauty, skyscrapers, clubs, parties,
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Pretty hot, the price of the case is a hundred.
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Cool, isn't it, to study in England,
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Dad blew for an elitist college.
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There were no plans to study elementary, |
Parties, clubs, pubs, bars with women.
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Collars ironed and bourgeois children
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They stir up something in grams in the evenings.
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They spoil girls, although they are spoiled,
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Back on that vicious prom night.
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Bored corridors, audiences,
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A ticket to your homeland and a sidekick, it seems,
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Will be glad to see, although another life,
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Each of them has its own motive.
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Fate naturally puts everything in its place,
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To whom is the stage, to whom are army battles.
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Dinner is being fried for another, but the bride thought,
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Listen, you have to get used to it, already an adult.
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Nose in the wind, tail with a gun,
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Like a childhood friend who plays 50 cents.
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Without straining, smiling at the camera, freestyles soar,
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Although people understand that this chocolate bunny.
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I did not come from the outskirts,
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The golden youth are the inhabitants of paradise.
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Keys in the pocket, the door opens,
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Don't forget the main thing - someone else's house.
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Chorus:
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The heat melts the city, who plays how,
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By your own rules, by your own scenario.
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Beauty, skyscrapers, clubs, parties,
|
Pretty hot, the price of the case is a hundred.
|
The heat melts the city, who plays how,
|
By your own rules, by your own scenario.
|
Beauty, skyscrapers, clubs, parties, |
Pretty hot, the price of the case is a hundred.
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Moscow is the capital, tourists roam the streets,
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There they are bred by Basota quickly, beautifully, cleanly.
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Two boys are not Russian, but who are they?
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But who knows, they have their own circle, narrow.
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Peakless cap, vest, flared, in the hands of a bouquet,
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White color, sailor, about 20 years old.
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And if he knew that he was running to someone else's wife,
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She, like a year, jumps on someone else's stern, on someone else's me.
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I somehow don't care, I thought to slow down, but I noticed
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That Tim is bursting with shaved hair.
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Uh, you need not break, but fight to the end.
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The whole tattoo thrashed around like a killer, but didn't understand in principle.
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How hip-hop is getting ready.
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- And fussing.
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- Well, yes.
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Life is like a movie. |
Cinema is like life.
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For him, the constant hero of these screen tests,
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Take seats in the hall, pay attention.
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I'm sure this guy will be inimitable.
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Bondarchuk and Rezo, they haven't filmed him yet,
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And the light of spotlights only beckons.
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Sitting on the sofa, in a restaurant, with friends
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In his films, he no longer plays badly.
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Chorus:
|
The heat melts the city, who plays how,
|
By your own rules, by your own scenario.
|
Beauty, skyscrapers, clubs, parties, |
Pretty hot, the price of the case is a hundred.
|
The heat melts the city, who plays how,
|
By your own rules, by your own scenario.
|
Beauty, skyscrapers, clubs, parties,
|
Pretty hot, the price of the case is a hundred. |