Someone there is impossible to kumar, as if stuck.
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Someone died. |
Nothing new. |
Exhale-inhale.
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And smoke is pouring out of my burner.
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So the smoke pours. |
So the smoke pours.
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Can't you make a circle? |
Somehow out of hand.
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But train without the Spartan jerk of crap.
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Help your neighbor, lay it down for someone else.
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The boys have soot on their faces from life.
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What kind of human are we talking about
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When a person is a wolf to a person.
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You don't come across this? |
Where do you live?
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Just thought it was where the fairies fly.
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And they give candy to everyone, give.
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And we have inspiring news:
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Our guys all over the world knead cabbage soup.
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he will give them, since the handsome fellows are great.
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Russia is coming, wash your underpants.
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No, but cho, everything around is changing and thank God.
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The five-year plan replaces the five-year plan for this five-year plan.
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I am glad to lay the road. |
Though they stopped singing songs
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About how he loves her and will die for her cap.
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And right now they sing that the family is hunting,
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And not a Cheshire kitty on the sofa, a beautiful idiot.
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Tired of plowing on the charms of Masha from Altufiev.
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What did she do to deserve the Eiffel? |
BUT?
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Chorus:
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Maybe I haven't caught up with your hairstyle, Monya?
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And dressed like a tramp, but years don't count.
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But at the end of my life all my share
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Let it grow with black flowers.
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Come on, take a photo for me, Monsieur Jean.
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Fix me up so that it is like in Paris.
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Even though our faces are not seen among the Parisians.
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We also have enough fashionable haircuts here.
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We will not be for contemporaries and young people.
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Whatever one may say, our lives are apart.
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Father told me that everyone should be loved.
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But it's too late for our life.
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Guys, we are so well shoved,
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What's mixed up in our heads
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Where is the movement, and where is the mouse chasing.
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Where is the house, and where is the shelter, it already seemed one thing.
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In short, guys, there is hope and support for you, as well as for us.
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But you are a pro.
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And if there is a piece of chalk, even crumbs, from the Night Watch,
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Then I would write:
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Let the brother live.
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Let the brother live.
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Chorus:
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Maybe I haven't caught up with your hairstyle, Monya?
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And dressed like a tramp, but years don't count.
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But at the end of my life all my share
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Let it grow with black flowers. |