| I am a man of the planet Earth
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| She is mine and yours
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| We are the villagers of the nest, a star shines on it -
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| This is how our lands and seas live
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| Near Rostov in the steppe near the Don
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| I bled among the worthy
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| Besiege, don't sing to me
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| My poems to coma, I'm MS to the grave
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| Thank God!
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| I can speak, but someone can only ask and only
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| Do you rummage at all?
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| The swamp sucks consumers, the quagmire pulls, oh how!
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| Social levels divide the money
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| Vanity. |
| Ay! |
| Penki ate
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| Wake up, soaring without a briefcase, a thief from a brothel
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| You are being fired there, in the sky, it seems
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| The last peep is looking for TV guides there
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| There they will show us Lida's pussy or a slimy fag
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| The beauty of toffee is full of shit in appearance
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| Come on, cash, boy, and jump to the catering bowl
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| Unthinkable scratch
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| As if I were rubbing a blue piss who has a frosted nose
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| Also not Hannibal, but would definitely take out the brain
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| Everyone tells him like that, it’s better for the dog down the drain
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| They are ready to drag me to the origins
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| Like "Kara-te" and Smokey, like a few T road
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| Hand Road!
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| But more and more often I hear shouts from the side: “Come on, Digga, run!”
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| I want to pull you away
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| From holey crying guide guys over fate
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| Will there be anything to remember at all?
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| Can you shake a gray-haired, slightly squashed mop?
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| On its own wave, loud-looking
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| Forest orderly, he is his guide
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| Put your hands up under the beat
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| When the crocodile speaks
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| On its own wave, loud-looking
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| Forest orderly, he is his guide
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| Put your hands up under the beat
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| When the crocodile speaks
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| I'm a Russian guy and I'm on the side of the skin color
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| May the light of God give strict faith to all peoples
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| Still, I myself have already lived a bunch of years
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| Do not drag the sword from its scabbard, tomorrow you can lie down yourself, grandson
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| Let me ask myself a question:
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| Who, if not me, will lead fashion by the nose?
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| After all, people are rushing like my muddy hop, my fierce chatter
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| The Zakos of the Year award will not be superfluous at all
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| I sweat over phrases, I'm thrilled with bass
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| I get high from rap, I have garters there
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| There is everything! |
| I have absolutely everything
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| To stir up a salute for countries, cities, villages, salute for villages
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| In programs without Trojans, spam
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| Poison, plan, button accordions, grams
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| Confusion and shame, everything else
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| Wake up! |
| Hare to stray in nirvana
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| Let's hustle until we've played catch
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| And here the market is not for the Xbox, but for the damp sleeping
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| Wake up dear
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| After all, I do not eat poison, although the wheels are always at hand
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| I see my gang and it grows
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| Gaining strength, like a bonfire in the forest from a log
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| Plus people every miserable ether
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| We are young and driving, this is Digga Rem, peace to all!
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| On its own wave, loud-looking
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| Forest orderly, he is his guide
|
| Put your hands up under the beat
|
| When the crocodile speaks
|
| On its own wave, loud-looking
|
| Forest orderly, he is his guide
|
| Put your hands up under the beat
|
| When the crocodile speaks |