| break erase into dust and desecrate
|
| the message is embedded then. |
| wild as a psycho killer
|
| a kind of verse thriller
|
| in power to cause murmuring and groaning.
|
| kahals to tear to hell.
|
| what not to pull the pope with a pen,
|
| anal with parker.
|
| there is no guy's secretive power
|
| in balabol searches, except for supplying current pressure there
|
| delirium of a gray artiodactyl
|
| for oak food is a dictionary - and this is nonsense, not good
|
| who is stupidly looking for words - he has couplets of stew
|
| in verse will dig up gray phrases of fucking and lean
|
| a copper basin will cover them, sooner or later.
|
| change yourself - drive empty
|
| and battle with us. |
| not in the USA. |
| there is not known to mans the suit of the cockerel
|
| better because I'll hobble through the pain lame on foot
|
| than poop with your mouth, but speak with your rectum
|
| the seed of strength is not there. |
| where mat.
|
| soaring if you don't agree then ban those bastard
|
| and it's harder for me to get lost in the three pines, to scrub the floor with a brush
|
| why not understand that this is idle talk, just that the bazaar is clean
|
| plus a hundred pounds you won’t notice how your face got into the cal face
|
| plus you can’t replace your beep for cash with m t s
|
| if so that they beat the lines with clubs
|
| you need to think and sharpen them, and not sell this insipid scratch
|
| now wild and stupid
|
| carry on graters without mom.
|
| per verse line without swearing.
|
| weave many for the bastard,
|
| without them squabbles are all wool,
|
| this style is not a joy to so many,
|
| make a lot of crap
|
| Gods see - everyone needs it.
|
| Russian given. |
| fierce gift. |
| but trouble. he absorbed
|
| bottom of shit just blah blah blah
|
| I would direct the negative into the heart directly
|
| brave pepper, who has had a wound on his head since childhood.
|
| when he beat Aunt Rima in the entrance for a coin.
|
| I would say what are you doing, you fucking goofy bitch.
|
| I would have recaptured the cab and forgot that I was friends.
|
| although the message would hardly have reached the soul
|
| I would have gone down to the courtyard anyway
|
| and I would tell a drunken juvenile fool to go home a disgrace.
|
| but I am weak. |
| like you. |
| but I will find a way
|
| stir up everything. |
| let now like a cow on ice
|
| and let me judge indistinctly,
|
| but in any case, everything is clear to me and you, plus a no brainer.
|
| I'm sure somewhere there was shame
|
| and it will be enough for the cottony idle life to fall apart.
|
| I am always ready to give blood for this matter,
|
| and I also love my mother. God bless her. |