Spring has come, and it has become warmer in the soul
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Large icicles on the head fall from the roof
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Snow gradually melts and poop is visible
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Snowdrops are not to be seen among the dirty porridge
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Fascists celebrate Adolf's birthday
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The sun only bakes their bald head with rays
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Blind man's operas are found in forest areas
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The incomprehensible Vasily became a victim of violence
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The girls are all beautiful, nipples stick out
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Prostitutes in Khimki do not make discounts and do not lend
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I want to run out into the yard and shout loudly,
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But I'm not brought up that way
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Spring is the time for love and oral sex
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This is when the doors are slightly ajar in the heart
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Spring is the time for whoredom and ridiculous excuses
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You gave her Swarovski, and she was painted for three
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The rooks are coming, and I want to live again,
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And not to crush someone's fucker with your feet
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Put the 20th rollers, if they fit
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From the speakers the sound is like in the Hall of Columns
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Soon a barbecue on a fire, a blue makhach, a dacha,
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In the meantime, March 8, bouquets, dog cold
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On the street srach, again soiled jeans
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At night, the cats under the windows yelled gloomily
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Ball game on the playground
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Bears crawl out of the den after hibernation
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The sun is reflected in dirty puddles
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Spring warms the soul, next to the body warms the pillow
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May put out dangerous toys for someone
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Aluminum spoons, grandmother's icons disappeared
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Clap your hands and take off your mittens
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Cold is trapped, the edge of the sky is visible
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Spring has come, all warm
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A cat in the sun to bask in the high
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Hopes are born in May, but they beat against the tile
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I'm on the microphone in the basement
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Spring has come, all warm
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A cat in the sun to bask in the high
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Hopes are born in May, but they beat against the tile
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I rejoice in spring as if I were small
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Spring has come, all warm
|
A cat in the sun to bask in the high
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Hopes are born in May, but they beat against the tile
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I'm on the microphone in the basement
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Spring has come, all warm
|
A cat in the sun to bask in the high
|
Hopes are born in May, but they beat against the tile
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I rejoice in spring as if I were small |