Текст песни Hans Wurfelig - Иммуномодулятор ft. Восточный Ямб

We do hip-hop,
And it is above your notes,
Very gently lay syllable
In my head he could,
Above the roof, I could not
There are too many rows
On the ceiling of smoke pouring
This flow from the throat
Muse my friend
In head hit in the head
dreams Feeling
And the blood pulsing
Crossed worlds,
A pile of crumpled sheets
There is no wind
Only the shield of the houses
My slow cover
covers demigod
My porridge brain
It smells of flowers scent
A lot of black dogs
Only the ashes of cities
This is the magic of poetry,
According to the head slap in the temple,
It follows from points
There is not a city of sin
Everything is closed on the lock,
With easy to play a lot about
What kind of sense without homes
A pile of meaningless words
This is my micro catch
I have no brakes
This is something under the hood
Please, flying into corners

We are with all the guys exactly bitodelim
On the new Mike, we do not have enough money
And Hans stoned normal Lays
My dream is to save up for a new Gelika
I can not afford even a large
And again about Ukrainians overwrites telly
But we would like to put on the gimp
While in the bottle ugolёchki trilling
And the girls are almost ripe
We become tired of these winter storms
But we Veremey that dream has not stleli
What might be fulfilled all the things that we wanted

He sold his soul for the answer
On what is not
This is a brief argument,
As plastic tool
He probably introvert
Earned Achievement
For transferred stress
Hans operates a demon
He turns to me
Something does in fire
I see him in the darkness
Here the whole truth in the embers