{And we'll get harder
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Why did you sell your soul... tell me
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Just past the checkout...
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Exited… classes…
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You are like a mineral water if your eyes are wide...}
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Manipulating a homogeneous gray mass
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We breed financial pyramids for bonds
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Lave in envelopes only pass by the checkout
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We are nuggets who came out of the middle class
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Words will correct you like a mineral water if your eyes are wide
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We read for the lads, not for you
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Someone enters a trance, and we enter into courage
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Prague Scanner Lovers
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A couple of pipettes and you are in a vacuum now
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Chush grass is lethal
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On the dot lighter
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We don't have holes on our hands
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We read for you poor
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Stele on meatballs deliciously
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We cut samples with a blade, where do you climb bracho
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Let's put it on a point under a minus lucky
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Those in the player are another gift, and a check is a gift to us
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Say that we are not real
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We enter the new century with our heads up
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Not rich and far from poor
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Let's cover a clearing for the lads in the green thicket and die in general
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Another gift and we'll go harder
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We're fucking hard
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Nothing new, remember the old, remember Stalin
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On weekends, those killed in the viburnum ... there is a veil in the eyes.
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We are not looking for meaning in Pelevin's phrases,
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And what the hell are you going to find, farewell waltz
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With a knife derailed in the back
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And what the hell are you going to show
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In fact, the whores are mired in mud
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Wanted black mud? |
On those!
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At night, the head hurts from blat hut
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And other muddles, here and there
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Without prying eyes, the weight went from hand to hand...
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What will stop you? |
Foldouts in the entrance? |
Primalovo?
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Fights with garbage? |
Broken fucks? |
Laws are old!
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Around new buildings, we add lines from words
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After another drinking
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And we change the tracks to barrels...
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Fuck me your profits
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You have maggots in your head
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Bro, slow down with these things,
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Otherwise, all your mazes for the Black Economy will be mired in corrosion
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Let's not panic
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White weight, nutcracker and drooping
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And you will fucking see us on the box
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Say that we are not real and you will saddle the knives
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Why did you sell your soul to the creature, tell me
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I live in lies and kumara
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Chronicle from the outskirts, not included in the list of inhabitants of paradise
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Remove all lovers
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Fuck these barrels to me |