| Whoa! |
| C'mon
|
| Whoa! |
| Yeah!
|
| You have critical days, you yell about and without
|
| I'm already drunk like vinyl and I don't remember what sex is
|
| Feel like your pad
|
| I absorb all the cries without a trace
|
| Blushing from indignation
|
| I can hardly hold back the cry
|
| But with anger to respond to anger
|
| This is not a way out, but a dead end
|
| So I just start smiling at all 32
|
| Past the ears skipping all your words
|
| Nodding your head according to, like, you're right
|
| Yes darling! |
| I'm fucking guilty!
|
| I was guilty even before I was born
|
| My birth is my second joint
|
| You can't fix it - neither give nor take
|
| Your mom's son-in-law doesn't work out of me
|
| There are so many awesome men around
|
| And I'm the only one you have so disgusting:
|
| At the table looks like either a pig or a locust
|
| There are no household chores that I could handle:
|
| I compose nonsense, I strum on the guitar for days
|
| I don't want to get a normal job
|
| I don’t grow a son with a tree, I don’t build a mansion
|
| In anticipation of the end of the cycle, I tear the sheets of the calendar
|
| You have critical days, you yell about and without
|
| I'm already drunk like vinyl and I don't remember what sex is
|
| Feel like your pad
|
| I absorb all the cries without a trace
|
| Blushing from indignation
|
| I can hardly hold back the cry
|
| But with anger to respond to anger
|
| This is not a way out, but a dead end
|
| I've been up to my neck in mud for almost a week now
|
| Digging trenches, digging trenches, waiting for the fight to end
|
| Shells burst, "horns" and clips empty
|
| I endure as best I can, but all my armor is already in holes
|
| I wave a white flag, but you don't like the drum, in my opinion
|
| You don't take me prisoner - I've been caught a long time ago
|
| It's pretty hard not to become dead in the slaughter
|
| Where bombs only fall where you hurt the most
|
| Your words are like a control in the head
|
| Red Power turned our house into Smolny
|
| I'm arrested, I can't avoid being shot
|
| Your voice is gaining decibels again
|
| You have critical days, you yell about and without
|
| I'm already drunk like vinyl and I don't remember what sex is
|
| Feel like your pad
|
| I absorb all the cries without a trace
|
| Blushing from indignation
|
| I can hardly hold back the cry
|
| But with anger to respond to anger
|
| This is not a way out, but a dead end
|
| Whoa! |
| C'mon
|
| Whoa! |
| Yeah!
|
| Whoa! |
| C'mon
|
| Whoa! |
| Yeah! |