| Dead planet, I want to get off
|
| Mannequin people, emptiness inside
|
| Spheres of the color of blood for the parade, and in an instant
|
| My space bus circles the world
|
| Dead planet, I want to get off
|
| Mannequin people, emptiness inside
|
| Spheres of the color of blood for the parade, and in an instant
|
| My space bus circles the world
|
| Arrogantly rose the podium with a thousand pale talents
|
| The heart is roaring on edge, and Valakas is delirious in the headphones
|
| Dead spots everywhere, kalichi freshmen, salad ingredients
|
| With whom now do I have to fight there in battles and quarrel for joy?
|
| Just don't (fall)
|
| Keep yourself in shape, yes, as long as WADA requires
|
| If you scratch your tongue - craft
|
| Then I am the most reliable speaker
|
| Bold but honest I take jobs from blacks
|
| After all, blacks disdain to go to the Russian Federation
|
| And work for a passive contingent and fucked up locals
|
| Here hung all who wanted our sects
|
| For those who do not sleep in the dark
|
| I'm on a space bus
|
| Watching the world melt on the stove
|
| He overcame the pain, opened his eyes, now you can fly out the window
|
| I can objectively evaluate
|
| What gave me a quiet shelter of headless children
|
| You are a colorful fruit to yourself
|
| They riveted attention, softened inside,
|
| And I, like a Japanese with a thirst for retribution
|
| Can't cure atomic flu
|
| Teeth with daggers, maggots in bile
|
| The rainbow of death will spill over the world
|
| Bitches don't come flying from Ivanushki
|
| Bitches wanna fly on fit
|
| Do you hate my voice?
|
| Do you hate my city?
|
| How to live now? |
| This is a reason
|
| To fuck yourself on the floor with your head or disappear in the slums
|
| So that my face does not shine on the posters
|
| So that my name is forgotten so easily
|
| About like Khalifa Crotch Rose
|
| Or like in Chicago flights from Rose, blown away
|
| No, it's pale
|
| I will not show my cards
|
| To all these fans in bathrobes
|
| Didn't move in Gucci and Prada
|
| I studied poorly, but I always had the best desks
|
| You know these are the facts
|
| Like no one else, I fell with a crash of drunken talent
|
| They told me: “You are a cretin, what kind of innovator?”
|
| And I hushed up to hide the detonator
|
| Dead planet, I want to get off
|
| People are mannequins, emptiness inside
|
| Spheres of the color of blood for the parade, and in an instant
|
| My space bus circles the world
|
| Dead planet, I want to get off
|
| People are mannequins, emptiness inside
|
| Spheres of the color of blood for the parade, and in an instant
|
| My space bus circles the world |