| Summer, summer, summer will spin us around
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| The city will plunge into the heat, beer will pour from mugs
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| Resting relax, let the peals of laughter sound
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| In a big company with friends, it doesn't matter where to go
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| Spring is knocking on the door, again these nights without sleep
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| A bottle of whiskey without a bottom, Novokuznetsk
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| I look at the clear sky, in the player Mr. Credo
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| In a white dance we spin, in the puddles I see a reflection of myself
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| Native place shop 24 hours
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| Summer is coming and barbecues in the Novokosinsky forests
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| Again someone in the meat, for the life of something to scratch
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| Stopariki of Kedrovka, we will be stamped
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| Even if you live in fucks, without hanging in the center
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| You will not live not a day, and again spring
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| Flows smoothly into summer, spring is knocking on the door
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| Knocking on the door...
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| Winter, autumn, yes, we don’t ask for summer anymore
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| Eight, comes in, window sill puffs
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| July, heat, closeness, call, car
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| Center, Hermitage, hash, girls with big glasses
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| And everything is beautiful, like in a movie, everything is strictly according to the script
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| The sun hits the dark, so you can get lost
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| And run away, on all four sides
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| From an overdose of pathos and a broken nose
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| This is how the days fly, from Monday to Friday,
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| But summer, at thirty degrees, it's fucking hot
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| You can have fun in this weather
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| Get into the fucking ah, well, oops
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| You come out of the water so beautifully
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| Your feet are washed by the influx of another wave
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| Girl, this summer it's just me and you
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| Sochi dark nights me and you
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| This time is loved by boys from Moscow
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| It's hot in the center, set the climate control to 23
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| Outskirts cooler no stuffiness
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| On Saltykovsky saucer bitch for the lads
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| When the furs get high take the smoke
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| When fishing rods nishtyak
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| Chop three by three in a street
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| I made dust, the puff smokes
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| I put on glasses, forgot the blizzard and blizzard
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| I'll take a walk and walk around the area, in my native
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| I'll drink a couple of Baltikas with basota, in a simple way
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| In the evening I will pull up to the fire, to the fishing line
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| Flows like a river, vodka to meat
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| In the morning of a spring day, got worries
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| Fence, bad thoughts, motive lower the quota
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| For joy, for happiness, for positive
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| Don't hide the positive impulse
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| Give a charge of kindness to all strangers
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| We polish the text, the notes turn into etudes
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| Rewind like a knee
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| Cuts down this track like Krasnodar and China
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| Spring rays penetrating into your heart
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| Fill life with meaning, dispelling dullness
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| Summer, summer, summer will spin us around
|
| The city will plunge into the heat, beer will pour from mugs
|
| Resting relax, let the peals of laughter sound
|
| In a big company with friends, it doesn't matter where to go |