Chorus:
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Loserville, Loserville...
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Loserville, Loserville...
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Loserville, Loserville...
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Loserville, Loserville...
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The tracks are not from the dirty South, those who are younger simply will not redeem the humor.
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In the sleepy hollows of the Kumar, again the fog, again the endless blizzard.
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Destruction in houses, hurry to get out of here, if you are young,
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But there is no escape from the devastation in the minds, such is the rut.
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This is not hot Utah, but the locals also sang hosanna,
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Pissing slums and this is of course annoying, we have fallen to the very
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Dark depths, again I wander unsociable, my swearing saga
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They don’t publish, which means I’m tormenting samizdat through the membrane from the subwoofer.
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Here, on the sly, those who are smarter turned into metropolitans,
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But the majority here slept red-handed, on a bench with a bottle of capital.
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Any creativity in the cockpits of cramped apartments awaits a lynching.
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Yes, a clear and correct kinchik is quoted here, but not Kubrick and Lynch.
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Habitual gossip swarming in the hallways like horseflies,
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From the very nursery, I watch how the last glimmer of reason melts in them.
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I am the rightful heir of this dark legend,
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We spent so many years here that we probably became its residents a long time ago.
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Chorus:
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Loserville, Loserville...
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Loserville, Loserville...
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Loserville, Loserville...
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Loserville, Loserville...
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Again longing strangled like python rings,
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Nobody knows about your Givenchy and Vuittons,
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This is clearly not the same, because it does not harmonize with the local shabby concrete, loitering around
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dark dens.
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One thing is clear - problems here go to the slippery bottom like an indifferent newt.
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A plate weighing three tons that will crush the ambitions of youth quickly.
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What is there at the end, the prosecutor or the bailiff, cirrhosis or an attack?
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Good intentions are everywhere, but I remember where the path is lined with them.
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From here it is quite easy to escape forever beyond the border of common sense.
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Codes of vegetable rules are squeezed into a ring of alienation.
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Damn, but at least don't lie to me about respect from colleagues, you, like everyone else, want money,
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To leave this doomed city, the black chronicle of many sad falls.
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I could disappear here like them, but I'm too arrogant.
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The pitch dark, like a hungry hyena, sneaks along the trail,
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Again I go blind, and in these darkness the world I know disappears without a trace.
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I am the rightful heir of this dark legend,
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We spent so many years here that we probably became its residents a long time ago.
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Chorus:
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Loserville, Loserville...
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Loserville, Loserville...
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Loserville, Loserville...
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Loserville, Loserville... |