First couplet:
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You know I'm not worth looking for
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I'm not worth looking for at all.
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I fucking found myself.
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The bottom site is where you don't need to look for me,
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My spirit is there, but here is my scalp.
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Turned on the beat closed skype,
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Hungry fried meat.
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New thoughts, but in the same socks,
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Life is a race, a speed race.
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Hits the gong typhoon-drive,
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Either the whole forest is going to be fucked up, or they are being driven on TV.
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You and I Clyde and Bonnie,
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We met the morning in Vlad, the sunset is waiting in Lisbon.
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Sweets in Cinnabon'e in the summer, the regime is noticeably ushatanny,
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Normally fucked up the money.
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But it's cool to lie on sun loungers at the lighthouse,
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Salute to the Parisians, I would gobble up a croissant in my pajamas in the morning.
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Who is evil offended him,
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Whoever can't think, hears a full face - ran.
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And somehow I don't feel sorry for them,
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My cards are not in my sleeves.
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The soul catches a dagger on the open,
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The cilantro flew into the salad.
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Lens flashed,
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A smile on the face in glasses of wine.
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Not a king at all, but dumb to quarrel with the mob,
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I go to the stars through thorns.
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And I will definitely come
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You just have to move without back.
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And to say everything directly without ulterior motives...
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Second couplet:
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And you shouldn't look for me in quicksand, I'm freaking out in a vice.
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I stand firmly on my feet, there is no gray hair at the temples,
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Life is all in segments, smooth and sharp.
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In my plans, everyone strongly jumped over the abyss,
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In the lexicon, the words are obscene.
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The bow falls into the breezes, the forest is felled here without limit,
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I plundered the feeder and tears.
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Love leaves a cut in the heart
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damn, a blade would be better.
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I'm tired of sitting at zero,
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I would like to make fucking more fun.
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But how to do it in this village,
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It's easier than ever to stay in the saddle.
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It makes no sense to keep everything in yourself,
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As well as pouring out everything immensely.
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But it's true my life is a Jules Verne adventure,
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And it's probably more interesting for me.
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Wherever we go we move with a song,
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Yes, what a fucking pension.
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I would have crossed over two hundred,
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But everything has already been weighed for us and taken away.
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Some have already taken the children to the kindergarten,
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And we just fucked up this rap, fucked up,
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Like on the leg, bang. |