| And we go around the square here in circles
|
| But our listeners still wave their hands
|
| But who can dream? |
| Since living in the basement
|
| But who will read? |
| For the streets, you fucked up
|
| And those who have not seen beyond the dirty area of \u200b\u200blife
|
| Chocolate medals were worn instead of gold
|
| Music in the dark shines like beacons
|
| Among the gopniks, find Salvador Dali here
|
| For those who do not need anyone, and wallow in the dust
|
| For those who definitely do not want to be the same as you
|
| It happens that fates just drown in blood
|
| And if you don't walk on water, at least swim
|
| Past all this pathos in a roundabout way
|
| Even a dog will never brag about chains
|
| And no matter where and how they die kings
|
| Earthworms die right under your feet
|
| Who will read for the streets? |
| (streets, streets, streets)
|
| Who will read for the streets? |
| (streets, streets, streets)
|
| Who will read for the streets? |
| (streets, streets, streets)
|
| Who will read for the streets? |
| (who, who, who, who)
|
| Who will be who? |
| Who will be
|
| These people are all around, the head, but it will not be lost from us
|
| Here everyone expresses his winter or summer
|
| From inside out, verses are torn here for the street
|
| For the one who believes in it, who needs answers
|
| While a cigarette is smoldering, someone's life is smoldering somewhere
|
| How much can you do everything in a circle, deceiving the inside again
|
| Forcing myself to believe that I'll get out one day
|
| Among the lack of money in the form of whining, and laziness
|
| From the arrogant stupidity of people in the fullness of doubt
|
| Fragments of moments in memory biting into the shadows
|
| We'll leave voices in view from smoked plants
|
| Leaving without saying goodbye, without taking anything with you
|
| Do not attract your valuables that burn alive
|
| And no matter what they say, they just say
|
| We are glad here that there is so the streets want
|
| Who will read for the streets? |
| (streets, streets, streets)
|
| Who will read for the streets? |
| (streets, streets, streets)
|
| Who will read for the streets? |
| (streets, streets, streets)
|
| Who will read for the streets? |
| (who, who, who, who)
|
| Who... who... (wave their hands) who (wave their hands)
|
| There's always a smart girl to read for the streets
|
| Fashionable ones will eventually get fucked, suicide
|
| The specialist never sleeps, and for any bit
|
| For you tunes, life, rhythm
|
| Smoke is next to him, be yourself next to him
|
| And tell everyone else when eyes and faces reflect the streets
|
| It's worth considering why the fuck is it so hard to smile here
|
| But our destinies intertwine and twist
|
| And sometimes it's so hard to read...
|
| Yes, because it just shouldn't fuck you
|
| But I keep repeating, I keep repeating
|
| Who will read for the streets? |
| Who will read for these faces
|
| For the smoked, the dead, for the free, and not shaved
|
| For idlers and those who do not have time for fun
|
| Who will read for them?
|
| When it’s easier for everyone around to remain silent, about this
|
| And powder someone else's mind with your fucking nonsense |