| Rap is not anyhow, and outside the window, as it were, Abakan
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| There will be snow, judging by the clouds, there is a poster on the wall
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| Calls on the Russians not to drink, but for now
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| Not a single one threw a glass of water because of him
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| Gray canvas flyovers, post-idol
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| The gloss of the pavement sparkled, jumped between the puddles
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| The ACAB stencil will not cause cockade outrage,
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| So express yourself with your native language
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| There is no Kant in the backpack for sure, a respirator - why?
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| There is a pile of gloves - it is clear that the evening is killed by what
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| There are inscriptions in the arch that call to bully khachi
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| A couple of eights and everything is there in the same vein
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| How many nights have they rubbed calluses on their fingers
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| Bringing out the pieces in any season, the aerosol hissed
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| From under the hands carelessly giving drips of colored tears
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| The canvas that called to remember the prisoners of the pre-trial detention center
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| Attracts the eye realized with the help of hands
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| The logo and inscriptions from runes are as accurate as a surgeon
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| Nameless author who dived into the hole in the fence
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| Dissolving in the darkness of courtyards somewhere closer to morning
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| Here the concrete will be covered with colors, it will soon be light
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| Propaganda, slogans, mottos, fragments of quotes
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| Stickers will continue to fade, the sky colors the dawn
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| Semantic charge and as if the walls are talking to you
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| About the decline, here the society is rotten, the community of nits,
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| But even in pitch darkness, lights will also light up
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| Indifferent stumps tremble, rushing to the light
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| And this spark in you is another one of the victories
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| Russian help Russian, called stencil
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| In the yard, but here each other's throats will soon be gnawed out
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| Just be on the pen and not have time to grow old
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| Pike ate minnows, because it will continue to be so
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| Vegetables are scared by Kolovrats at the entrance to the entrance
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| Obebos are happy if there are options and weight
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| Someone has Porgy and Bess, Fitzgerald and Maugham
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| Some people just have cayenne under their ass
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| Discontent leaves a mark on the walls in the dark
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| And rahowa seems like a children's crusade
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| I am not competent to speak for everyone, thousands of topics
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| What worries me, outlined in verses as I wanted
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| All that is in the soul will cover the fences tomorrow, look
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| Until they wiped it out, an unbiased message from the inside
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| Faded marker, stencil, or bright acrylic
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| Well, this song is like an MP3 soundtrack |