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 |