| We muddied this fit so that your brain swells
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| Today together on stage THC and Guf
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| The crowd pours in layers to the chic sound
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| There are even more of us - make the circle wider
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| Next year will be hot, I wish you good luck,
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| In the meantime, there is time - we are looking for suitable punches
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| Puncher screwed innings for a week
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| Bring us some vodka, we're flying home, boy
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| Cannon planchik - in the past, he was good
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| In the future - a fluffy bump on the Forge near Lesha
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| In the future - a couple of hours at the studio
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| In the future - a full house, in the future - filks
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| This is more interesting than the songs of Mikhailov or Leps
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| Honestly, we put "Next" on the rotation
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| As well as on the rotation of all other radio stations
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| We will try while heads are shaking
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| What's up guys? |
| The gate is rising
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| Let's go hunting, know comments, know photo
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| Moscow overboard, free on Saturday
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| The windows are up, it's cold in the cabin, but it's hot for the pilot
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| The pilot was carried away so that he was covered in sweat
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| He is shaking already, he almost vomits
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| Doesn't look good - probably poisoning
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| Or the weather: magnetic storms and pressure drops
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| Again, I'm off topic, while under these, and not with those |
| With whom would we all like
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| Trust me, brother, I'm kind for the time being
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| Burst patience - I'll slam the door, check out the alignment
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| Well, in general, I'm glad
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| I catch a vigor on the stage, I shake hands with everyone in a row
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| And, along the way, not in vain
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| You can’t slow down - they will immediately eat
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| There is me and my family
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| fuss non stop
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| And let them not fuck
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| Eyes shine brighter than a year ago
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| In the district they still whistle, crackle with ribs
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| Summer has passed, autumn is at the start
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| I still haven't needed my certificate
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| To make this rap for you
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| Pitched for beer
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| The Mias flows slowly
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| The weather didn't work
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| Rain-mud, but it didn't affect us
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| Half a nickel at a time - it didn’t seem to me
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| It sparkled. |
| We walk on the streets without straining
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| Chelyaba frowned, I smile
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| Dogs bark, we rap and don't chase
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| And on the balcony in Forge and in the kitchen on Antrisol
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| Moscow - connection. |
| "Triagrutrika" - "ZM"
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| Everything will improve many times over by winter
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| My province in action: capitals, hotels, stelim
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| Confidently rap, we drive slowly through the darkness
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| Passage to the control zone. |
| What is the exit number?
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| Password-protected Wi-Fi, spammers and trolls
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| Sculpt "Lukoil", I choose wallpaper |
| Marathons, drinking bouts, races, fights of women, according to the rules and without
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| I liked it, fixed it. |
| hooked
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| You have to dump it - pale. |
| Tears
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| Compressor at Mercedes-Benz
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| Conference room, light in the eyes, eyes in the meat
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| I did not order this, free checkout, hello
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| I slept an hour maximum - this is a classic
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| Imagine here for two hundred
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| Here, weigh in the entrance, you piss me off
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| No network again, security at the entrance
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| Ears are everywhere, it's better not to fuck, that's how it is
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| These combinations are not childish for us
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| On the avenue from Chelyaba to Novokuznetskaya
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| From Minsk to Omsk, from Krasnoyarsk to Izhevsk
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| In Lugansk and Donetsk I feel like a local
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| Hundreds of versions of who is ramsit with whom, close and close
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| We will say fraternally: from Kursk to Paveletskaya
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| Looking for meaning - listen to the song
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| Looking for the essence - shut up these bitches and add a plus sign and crosses
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| Strain your brains, if you have them, everything is in suspension
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| You can't confuse us with anyone: TGK MC - I am
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| Guf, welcome, brought a vile
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| Hard, in the press, one and seven by weight
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| Testim. |
| All answers are in the text, everything is true
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| We are who we are. |
| And let them not fuck |