Текст песни Гнилоустье и Lord Smytka - Головы

It naebalovo some!
No,
Here, everything is wrong.
All gonevo.
Reality is not.
Life adjusted.
Death?
It is more,
But it's a moot point.
Cat in the Khrushchev apartment
Two bowls and a toilet pan,
More plaid woolen
And the owner,
Whom no permanent home.
That is the reality of a cat.
What do we eat?
Where are we going?
Watching sparrows
A wet glass,
Staggering from corner to corner
And nervously meowing.
If this is reality,
Then the head of a man - a joke.
Look like spring is coming town.
How many colors and how many colors are hidden.
I just do not see them through his beard,
What mist down into a puddle-trough.
Sad eyes mine, brother, zaebyvayut more
The starving children of Africa.
Everywhere Slush and mud and melted ice rink.
Positive words are not in my glossary.
I do not want to write a poem about something under the snow,
About warm warm soil, and the cries of the birds in the morning,
I'm more interested in, and much more important,
Spring and autumn complications in the minds of the Guru.
It can not be that the professionals thought
The Giants and the Atlanta Dream thinking,
Do not be ripped chest screaming feelings,
It does not gnaw their spring these same complications.