Текст песни Вадим Голованов - Метёт

Sweeps on vole- -20,
And we meet on the road
Lucky
In the window flow blue evening
Gives us a call our manager
On the rise

Shagnesh the corner, frowning and crouching
Knocks Nord-Ost scratchy
Fly away
They all assembled in the car sat
And on the road flew
Forward

Moon lit a candle in the sky
Drove miser, not the stove heats
He is angry
Glide on ice skates
The cop waving a stick striped
Goat

Rattle frozen cylinders
Plagued by gray barons
Oils
Dreaming about the heat of July
I spat on the floor and foot
Raster

The patient lies, the team plowing
Hand in the crook of our effort
Tracks
His breath less often
Here we are, but a heart attack, but where
Bits?

Fourth hour syringes not my
Neighbors climb howling
Cattle
Well let another ukolyut "troika"
Zakonstatiruem- in bed
Kranty

But here's the bit, barely had time to
Pulse pressure and Ellen barely
No
Breath is, but somehow slightly
We have worked on glory
Forces there

Well, I carry nosilki- pipes!
In a coffin I have seen these jokes
One Hundred Years
Indeed, at home waiting chefir and sugar
What is callback? Oh ... fuck them!
Hi!