“Perhaps this is a trap.
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- And there is. |
What do we do?
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- Let's break through!
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There are normal types, there are *way guys.
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Minor notes lay on guitar strings.
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In short, everything is clear, everything is elementary.
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The ship is sinking, the bolts are on the phone.
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Plus, the most needed number was lost.
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You say that you are not in the subject, like you are not in the share.
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That those types fooled you, but you didn't understand.
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From now on, you will be aware, in fact, the step is sticky.
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Someone dries crackers, someone eats olives.
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Here, even for gray credit cards.
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Listen, don't stick your nose out of the gate.
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Braza, debts are growing like metostases.
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Skyscrapers are collapsing, the frame is cracking.
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The factories are smoking, the merchants are withdrawing cash;
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And someone presses with a mass on a pissed mattress.
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And either we will put them - or we will be put against the wall;
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Diluted with bright red gray shades.
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Snot in prohibitions brother, but do not forget at the same time.
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Chorus:
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These are the hunters following the trail.
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Heed the advice, when you see the light - run!
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Until the cozy house was replaced by a cage,
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While still tormented by otkhodnyaks.
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These are the hunters following the trail.
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Having torn off the muzzle, I read poetry to them.
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I'll put coins in their eyes.
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But where are those damn conductors?
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Random connections in non-random events,
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Someone would call them dirt, someone development.
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And it is no longer possible to convince these vigilant spectators
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Make the right choice at the distribution center.
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With his back to the platform, he whined like a puppy.
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He wanted to stop, but he couldn't.
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Stop the dialogue, you fucking inner voice!
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The doctor wrote an obituary, but did not give injections.
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Having drunk "for peace", carefully packing -
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It won't hurt, but if it hurts.
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If you don't like our clinic - *publish to another!
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In short, sniff * uh, you go to the side * uh -
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With your problems, demons.
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The topic is full of flies, * flies.
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The earth will rest in peace for them, fed them with gunpowder.
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He dug a grave for an idol and buried it.
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There are fears, monks are burning at the stake.
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There, the scum rose and fell into darkness.
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There bones crunched like peanuts underfoot.
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And in anticipation of a fight, I hear dogs barking.
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Chorus:
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These are the hunters following the trail.
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Heed the advice, when you see the light - run!
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Until the cozy house was replaced by a cage,
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While still tormented by otkhodnyaks.
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These are the hunters following the trail.
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Having torn off the muzzle, I read poetry to them.
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I'll put coins in their eyes.
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But where are those damn conductors? |