Текст песни Чувашская Атрибутика х Драка на школьной дискотеке - Рутинная сатира

The edge of sore wounds
The frenzy takes us away
Trotsky bequeathed to us
Be a free community
Yeltsinists forward
Ice-haired behind us
The heart of every Russian
Grandpa Yeltsin will set fire
And we beat relentlessly
By the throat of the camp
We will pass all of you
Like Vasco da Gamma
United Russia crowds
We will be left without numbers
Ninety third year
Marked with victory
Stalin's oppression is overthrown
We ran through our veins
The sweet taste of freedom
Don't let her be taken away
And trample the dirt
Parties to the compositions.
Like a spring key
The unspoken truth beats
And here's the heretic
Banished from the camp
As the soul desires
Name me
But the grains are sown
In every breast
Raise the energy
Don't be shabby
Each of us
Drowns this world
Die on scoring
Red and white
Jew became a skinhead
Jew became a skinhead

in a pile stuck on fashion clips
there are many people who like to talk about politics
temperature under forty
cold in martins on a warm sock
walk barefoot
romance - hugs on a container gig
the speed is not snow, but a second per meter
you chose and betrayed
charters and creeds
tell yourself: "I have nothing to do with this"
or "I'll fix it tomorrow"
in social skills I melt
Hercules couldn't make the bed
dream of earning what you spend
buy a mastroom for the last stash
I run away from problems to Nalchik
forgotten like a child's passport in a tobacconist
breaking my back in stretching
collar badges
look into eyes to see pupils
ranks will not save from the churchyard
fasting can be difficult
I will say a toast to the peace of zeal
blow to the crown
treatment confused with oblivion
in winter I warm myself only with thoughts
straight age angel fallen
no one will tell you how to live on
bought hamburgs, saved on breakfast
the gray mass has sunk into oblivion
summer is dangerous as hitler youth
it's time to get up off the bench
ventures of the sick and incoherent delirium from the plague
my uncle has the vilest rules
hello to Bazarov
roasting domestic nihilists at the stake
dripping with chocolate mousse from the end
monsoon wind, New Year's feast
morning and evening hawaiu glycine forte
bourbon is not sold at the pharmacy
backgammon in anti-cafe is a matter of ethics
after patrols, ask for a purulent battle with Ernesto
oatmeal is not dough, I'm in the front door
I rent a cross and a godson to a pawnshop
all the same he is a slacker and a mediocre fuck