Текст песни PashaPashtet - С 7 утра

And I fuck
From 7 in the morning
With cigarette in teeth
And prayers are not on the crosses
And on sheets in verse
And I am another fool
I'm all fuck
And thanked another fucking
Thank you fucking
I do not remember the moment when everything turned over
In dusk
May I have
I will again express the wrong pussy here
And what
Falls at hand here to crap?
Science, Sofists and Jesus Christ.

It's time to go here
Shot in parabole
But not sinking my ship
About this two years ago I basar
And this was not pleased with this
Especially standing on parades
And demonstrating their vocals
Funny
And fun fun
Leave Stigmaty
Each fucking sectance
It's not worth praying and not necessary
And I think peright
When I dig a hole to my concert
Before death
Before churches

Before millions of fans wishing my flight
From the world of wooden childhood
What do you know about romance in the feeder?
Lovers of dear alcohol nasty

So what?
Now pin the amber coffin?
Move threshold
Yes, so that no one found?
But I am designer of my stars
And this is my personal puncture
Pouring liters of wine
It became red cloth

Already the sky is not that.
And opening the ceiling
My constellations fell to the floor.
And pulls on the bottom
Draws for the tail of my beast.
But it will endure blows
Well, after you, a gift will leave the Fingals under the eyes

Saluing loneliness
His creativity
And patronymic
And the faces picked up your idols
Under the clouds of smoke
Even believe not ashamed
And I did not like they mean life thanks

Thank you to fuck at least something
For nausea and vomiting
And for becoming cruel
To icons
And I will not hide
What is burning them, throwing out of the windows
And they will soon
Will be honey
It's all for evil you
For evil every priest
And each ebanushka, which considers himself a sinner
I am shattered above each generation
And even think a war - I knee the sea
I don't care about you
You have not achieved worthy ego sizes
I rzhu over your art
After all, it is garbage
Over all your fucking tuvami
Stupidly sad
And at least someone in the know
That from you only rams row
And only shit sickly from the mouth?

I drink poison for your death
To the dregs
Empty and throw in the screen
I am your every death Amateur and Meloman
Connoisseur and gourmet
And Harcay in your women
Blood from cigarettes from 7 am