| Oh how old is my friend
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| Dedicated to the game for thousands of days in a row.
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| With whom did you enter the poetic circle?
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| Rhymes of percussive glances.
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| With whom did you grow up, with whom did you get to know the drama of the streets of the yard?
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| What are you ready to say out loud here?
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| The poet falls from the pen.
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| hands up!
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| Seven cities will pump the crowd, meet us at the end of February
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| St. Petersburg awaits in March.
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| So be it, my brother will stand up with his chest, I will go to the beat.
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| Together we will become stronger, Tyumen, salvo number two. |
| Bam-bam.
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| There is a rumor going around for my brothers.
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| A separate heart on the map, life is already familiar to you.
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| Brotherly heart, beats stronger, which speaks of
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| Open your eyes, my faithful friend, before we come to your house.
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| A huge volume of these names will definitely leave a mark,
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| And whoever paves his way here with goodness, someone will see the light.
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| Give me a sheet. |
| Do you smell the ardor? |
| This is the Far East.
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| And the secret is how deep the sprout sits in the ground.
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| We are not rushing to the top. |
| Through the wires, lightning current, cue ball.
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| And you, not knowing the notes, will pass everything like a concrete skating rink.
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| It will swing. |
| It's like a fight in the standings, where the score is important.
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| The final round, so, one-two-three - let's start.
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| Hands Up, Hands Up those who hear us
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| Who breathes culture, those who move higher.
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| The game of one life, one love and more words.
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| Rhyme, point-blank shot, by no means, this is not magic.
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| Hands Up, Hands Up those who hear us
|
| Who breathes culture, those who move higher.
|
| The game of one life, one love and more words.
|
| Rhyme, point-blank shot, by no means, this is not magic. |