Текст песни оми1- - тапки

Mala, about ten years old, created his killer list
Mom turns compote at home, in the hut a sugary smack
Where the three thimbles will hide the pearls that sour like skittles
There debris is twisted like ticks on a Bengal ficus

Grew, then shake on the mustache
If you are proud of the number that is in the square above the inscription RUS
Good luck as a currency rate, there is a fierce pulse
Today, trash on hand, tomorrow ace trump

Trees lose leaves in autumn
Just as people in life lose all their loved ones
Who is struck off the list today?
With a hole in the head will be found in a bed with a battered bika

No less, youth, old age
Where the spoiled fruit is cleaned hiding and the whole herd
Loaded and left to swim in the gutter
Bright bloody, without a tuxedo and slippers

Chorus - 2 times
Try shooting at yourself
You will realize that this pain does not quench
Try to start from scratch
You will see how past life tempers you

Black-black snow melts on my soul
He breaks out from the inside, but not from someone’s knives
How much do I need to live a life as a sheikh
To not be earlier on the ground floor

Who invented the light at the end of the tunnel, I do not know
All my sinners and too far from heaven
We are all here and moving on at a frantic pace
Not by hitchhiking, but by foot, so as not to be pawns

And do not look for this city on the map
A place where kids with highs will burn that deceiving Santo
Here every day becomes a date
Where there is a hint in a half tone - here they already dig with a shovel

Chorus - 2 times
Try shooting at yourself
You will realize that this pain does not quench
Try to start from scratch
You will see how past life tempers you

Try shooting at yourself