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