Something with a face, something from the bottom
|
Why are you sleepless, as if under something
|
The click knocks all these dogs off their feet
|
They got carried away. |
Move - don't stand
|
Purely without words of vague shades
|
As well as from the rooms. |
Rhymes in a leaf
|
Almost died, but got out of hell
|
Baby, don't lie: where were you?
|
While we ate one for the crowd
|
Stairs up, stairs down
|
A pair of mattresses so as not to drown
|
All in cognac, with weight in a sock
|
Backflip and face in the grass
|
Until death is not a f**k
|
Pi**ets was already. |
I remember mourning
|
Fire ground, nipples, their breasts
|
Fuck their work, fuck the game
|
We haven't been looked for here for months
|
Could on wheels, could on a needle
|
Wet street, pooh, I'm coming
|
Sweaty through, dry in the wind
|
Handset with me. |
If anything - I'll dial
|
If you didn't take it, there's a corpse in the city
|
Sick Bacchus
|
Sick Bacchus
|
Sick Bacchus
|
Sick Bacchus
|
Sick Bacchus. |
It's crowded
|
Unceremonious, but he's drunk
|
His album is digging dirty
|
With a rusty screwdriver in their eardrums
|
He promised, he did not fulfill
|
What is there to squeal? |
- he will outdrink them
|
After all, he was honest with himself
|
And before you, as before God
|
Baby, don't lie: where were you?
|
While our ardor was chilled to zero
|
Your babble is not a skill
|
Movement is not a style
|
Your Gang is just Kents
|
You are a match in a clip, a wild animal without a grade
|
My soles are too worn out
|
So that I believe in speeches to no avail
|
So take a taxi home
|
Post a pic, lick a chick
|
Take the fat out of the bong
|
If I am weight - you are just a pinch
|
You are just a goldfinch here
|
You didn't live sweaty
|
Have you decided who you are?
|
There is no faith in your words
|
Close both the door and your mouth on the heck
|
I'm like a hyena in this savanna
|
Maybe an animal, but not an animal
|
Watch the video clip/Listen to the song online. |
Otrix - Sick Bacchus |