| The book takes away from the first sheet, poke cubes into the vein
|
| One hundred out of a hundred give your life a boost
|
| Up to the sky from the needles jumped bam-bam, Bigelow
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| Ebashit like Desert Eagle batkin flow
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| Gypsy fucking wagon, kill time, get into tone
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| Music box on a par with a jamb
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| The level of corpses, on which the tramp, without a trace
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| Deliver decibels of sound from builders to Mariks
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| Dreams in detail and not remember - fuck off
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| The conversations of the gods, the rivers overflowed their banks
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| Look for me on the scales, hourglass hands
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| At this blue time, don't expect salvation
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| I smoke and fuck all the earthquakes
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| Music, plants, the box is not the last
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| And soon the bottom of the birth, and the lips are again in the foam
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| You can’t catch, plump, dangerous movement
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| I play with the shadow, I wake up the green
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| It spreads, even an old stump moves its rolls
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| First in this thread, not killed by you from birth
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| Fucked up will come to the system, let's kill me
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| My patience has run out, I am without money, I am the king of idleness
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| (Fuck fart!)
|
| Pathologists saw us cry
|
| Under the heads at the exit in the brain there are only scribbles
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| Let the madhouse go, I beg you, I'm an asphalt-colored dove |
| I would flutter in the sky and do somersaults there
|
| Blacker than a black bulik, the system rivets us like that,
|
| But this crazy body had all the evil in life
|
| I grabbed air masses, our style
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| - unripe cherries, you feel stuffy
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| We will not burn like cigarette butts, walking along your towers
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| You were run over by an ambulance from a music box
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| From the bong like a bat in the bath, densely killed - not by you
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| We are chops for the brain, like fucking with boots
|
| Catch points in a vein, hit a blowball with a hair dryer
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| A well-fed salad with vegetables, a couple of liters for the kidneys
|
| They belched at your wars, we are for good all over the world
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| And they leaned on him
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| To your soapy tunes dance the bastards themselves
|
| I would like to be Dorian Gray, but you've been dead for a day
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| Call the firemen, and damn it, everyone went crazy and blew it away
|
| From the music box, everyone overdosed hapanuli
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| The soul will not become stones, wisely grabbed in the distance
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| The measure measured the meaning, do not go there with giblets
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| Don't go there with giblets
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| Four letters in columns, daydreams with miracles
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| My fucking friends think I'm a bastard
|
| Four strange letters stood side by side again
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| Hearse on bricks 180 along the Moscow Ring Road |
| Your pina colada I've tainted with poison
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| The music box screamed black obscenity
|
| Help 3 basement acrobats find jobs
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| Your body is at gunpoint, monkeys with guns
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| In a hole three meters deep there is no price for your carats
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| Did the job - should I hide the body, or what?
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| I trust impudent, scoundrels and rollers
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| Decided to get away from fate? |
| Found by fingerprints
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| In this place, the price of your riddles is ugly
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| Boxes, boxes, boxes, but the arms are short
|
| Reach for the brains that lie at the bottom of the river
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| A young shell, in it are rotten old men
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| All nightmares are behind us, ghosts do not believe in us
|
| Cut off the heads of the axes, drive them into the jambs
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| Sound amplitude causes colic
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| From such fashionable melodies, fashionistas would be fucked
|
| The curious are swept out in the morning by janitors
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| Black squares and circles and triangles
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| Righteous and guides from the word "watermen"
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| In shit your slippers will slip out from under your feet
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| Here, on the blackest day, the lights can smolder
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| What seemed like hell turned out to be someone's ass... |