I poured a glass of cola
|
thunder struck at half past one,
|
johnny dop brought the hydropon,
|
kudos to all the guys
|
we compose a new corral
|
I'm shivering from AIDS
|
sweet dreams to everyone who sleeps tonight
|
we are not one of them
|
there is always a dud
|
garcon, not home garden
|
I am always happy for him
|
smoke is good, snowfall is hell
|
hit on the nervous system
|
connecting words
|
autumn, winter, spring
|
then summer
|
we will buy tickets for the ship to the south
|
along the way it will most likely become ill
|
and not me alone
|
the captain will reassure: "spewy on board"
|
we can't go under
|
let's go deeper
|
to where they don’t leave after doba
|
for being, I'm not fit
|
we break laws, but we love heroism,
|
but we are not a parody, we will not come to you with a warrant
|
but it can blow your mind
|
cover them with soot
|
until someone leaves
|
a lot of things going on
|
but little changes
|
all the same places, all the same drugs
|
and I, unfortunately, like it
|
we celebrate international holidays
|
leprosy, pranksters get sick,
|
but I advised, not ordered
|
we are treated with staff, we read, we write stories
|
soon you will all be taken over by artificial intelligence
|
it will be too late to change
|
and everyone will end up where gas masks will not save,
|
and the real will become an abstraction
|
thanks to those who burn poppy plantations
|
I didn't get drunk and I don't get into a fight
|
this is just a statement of facts
|
got scared when the paper dispersed
|
now it's easier, but sometimes
|
shadows come around the corner
|
it's time for the underground
|
fluff from the morning with a bang
|
and such nonsense until the evening
|
black skulls will provide peace
|
or vice versa
|
I was wrapped in this whirlpool
|
I'm trying to swim out, but it's still rushing
|
ah new here u wont epty
|
seize the moments when nature shares experience
|
modernization will kill you
|
shut the fuck down your computers
|
I live peacefully without expecting a reward
|
from sweet dishes
|
because underground is the ninth circle of hell
|
and it's fierce, or it's rut, or paranoia
|
I'm inflated, two crosses created comfort
|
storms will not stir our roof
|
so everything will be cool
|
if we proceed to the final destination
|
we are already waiting there
|
they don't count the hours,
|
and they will set fire to you
|
"Maybe everything will be good?"
|
maybe everything will be good
|
maybe you will be drowned in a pond
|
and will never be found
|
your corpse will be torn to pieces,
|
know johnny dop the representative of the big bosses
|
and not without reason took part in this track
|
I don't give a fuck about rap, I like to draw
|
where are the color markers |