Текст песни матькундалини - листок

I have three sevens port behind, backpack
severe headache and love for you
and if you do not rot buhoy, somewhere in the stairwell
I see you in a frozen window in January

or May Rastan
It turns into slush understanding to passers trampled
You'll walk in the clouds
I'll be there, even though you do not know
lunge precipitation tears insignificance of their osoznaya

I buhoy, and you're angry
Street dogs someone ate
but we all slept

in my mother's bedroom
We cry with you forever
Flying over the city, which we are bound and

jump under the first truck, clean, on-ugorayu
I see that fucking is not there, and come back
or send greetings to Victor Tsoi
and I tell him that the wall had already sucked

pussy you fucking generation
We ate a baa See and port wine Keeping jokes about Kurt Cobain
we ebeali self-preservation
After all, self-destruction as a fucking fun