Текст песни Плохие Новости - Слёзы жигана

tell me why
why all this
why so many thieves words negligible answers
why am I here if I lay down in the ground tomorrow
all my things and roads swoop in the air
catch my recipes about fate short notes
it's about what they have about what is not here
giving secrets getting quiet tips on
that there is another life full of colors and sunshine
what the fuck bro you're not alone
but for some reason then all my calls are thrown off knowing that I'm stuck
for garlic bro you zinc, you just do not expect good
what are the words of those who were close in life
yes and no life here as it happens they mark
suffer along the way but I fell over these days
on Sundays vows of vengeance and wreaths through time
going to bed again began to see colorful dreams
sometimes deceased deceased old boys
The Lord had mercy for the time while the Divan has enough faith
someone sat someone fucked up
each kid has his own problems
who thinks to raise the lave and someone does not blow the dick
while mustachioed men smoke masks show boys pack
and God in dance gives me a Hans and the Zhigan loses tears
it's about how it was all about how to buy off grandmas was not enough
pizdanuli wheelbarrow pizdanuli man purse
for a week hoolies will think over further it will be visible
let them plant quickly and let them go for a long time
it makes no sense what we were waiting for
if it used to be inserted today everything is real as it hung
welcome to a life that makes no sense

gig on the cold floor
believe early
as long as the shore of the will stretches
drag me where go bosyatsky soul

Zhigana's tears for relatives kiss sweet
lay down for the night to his children with peace brief
wrapped in a crib they dream
that dad will not forget to come and protect them
suddenly tomorrow luck but it suddenly sounds like a musar
not hoping for others, burns days longer
arriving home in the morning they began to weakly believe you
less you raise grandmothers okay then she doesn’t care
probably taverns baths and whores are to blame
she turns her backside loudly slamming the door behind her
a stranger to everyone to whom it was once attached
so probably it was not for me right away
fucking invent if the result is always one
samples remained life is one damp fog and gray smoke
marking flashed a turn and traffic lights
nothing can calm a jigan than a long road
there will be something but in the morning all one
cold coffee cold shower
vodka shmal and weekly binge

gig on the cold floor
believe early
as long as the shore of the will stretches
drag me where go bosyatsky soul