Текст песни Комба БАКХ - Труп кумира

KVADRAFIL:
 What kind of crap - this fucking show business!
 At the entrance of the man at the exit-demon beast.
 Maybe a good type was Michael Jackson,
 But he was in the woods and got stuck all.
 How many girls for him to stay out of the loop,
 And I wrote "Just like Jackson" in a note?
 I do not know what to tell him there in heaven,
 It would be better to negro and raised hemp.
 And he does not know, perhaps, that in the world
 There are people who are ready to do anything for the idol.
 He somehow unaware that will have to answer.
 This is 1000 times strёmney than that of the Negro to become white.

 FEB:
 Kapets come to you, The Golden Calf!
 And career and all pride we bring down here.
 You used to hear flattery zazhirel ves-
 Any our idol to be killed this day!
 To worship a man, or the idea of ​​the log
 There is not much sense in fact.
 we wanted to worship passions -
 It is the same thing as worshiping the fact that we have recently eaten.
 I bowed to the women bowed down to things,
 I almost drove into the grave is not himself.
 I w-boy! - So figom
 Suddenly I began to imagine himself an idol.
 My dad stripped all the posters in the closet,
 Magazines, clippings, magazines -vsyu this Moore.
 Mom secretly cleaned mayki- robes:
 My parents wanted me to grow free!
 Thank you mom! Thank you dad!
 You tried to save me from corruption.
 That increased prygozhimi my two brothers,
 And I began to move Kunst Complex.
 We have much to do on this earth is necessary,
 It is still worth a barrier to hell.
 Now I want to bring up a soldata-
 Mochit idol! Fell reptile!