Текст песни КИСЛЫЙ, BONIFACE, KU4ER, АЛЫЙ МЕРТВ - СПЕКТР СОБЫТИЙ

Today is Friday
My mind is in a muddle
Friend, haul your ass out of here
Where will this ride take us?
Initiation awaits at every corner
Stones are my daily bread
The world is just one cool installation
A new paragraph—right onto the facade
You lost everything while trying to make a quick come-up
Now all that’s left is bitter regret
We’ve briskly brewed a potion
Without relying on your loopholes
Whether by calculation or by hope
The boys will have your back
Arrogant people are taking advantage of you
It’s pitch black inside the minds of these screw-ups
No need for a podium
We’ll get straight to the core

We’ll rise higher in the minds of the masses
While your own minds have logged out of the chat
We’re unfolding in full bloom
You’re as clumsy as a lumbering oaf
Careful now—the floor is wet
Mind you don’t slip
Reality distorts as we twist our rhymes
We fire verses at the crowd—no casualties here
We serve this dish straight from the Chef’s tray
Waiting for the summer to arrive
But for now, the daytime is steeped in utter darkness
A restless wind blows through the soul
We’re working on our abs—right here on this floor, with the press attaché
Why do you look so haggard, son? Chins up, you barefoot souls, to the beat of the bass
Full of contradictions
Brother, take it easy
Not even a river could wash away their filth
We blow smoke rings into the air
We wandered in search of the truth
But your lies are just a sprint through the mud
Where you’re headed now
We’ve already been
I have little need
For this dust of yours
Smoke billows everywhere
And burns
Secret files—
Even Mulder and Scully wouldn't approve
What exactly were you looking for under that birch tree?
You’re as petty as a minnow
Your worldview is molded from shit
And it will be mowed down just as easily—like a lawnmower through grass
Don't gas it—we're already steeped in grime
A split second from the truth
That is my mission—when the smoke finally catches up again

An aesthetic of the mind, or just personality flaws?
How much shit inside you is merely the gift of habit?
Drinking bootleg booze when the real stuff is all around you?
That person beside you isn't a friend—wake up, man, this is critical!

Living inside your head, then making it personal
Sifting out fear to think illogically
Just hip-hop and rap—purely symbolic
A proud startup: strictly business, no cash on the table

Cool down—you’re weak, and brawling won't help you
My only affliction is my own bad habits
If there’s a moron inside your head, then everything else is just nonsense
You’re not alone—and that, too, makes no sense

Hey, let's talk like grown-ups
There are too many temptations here
It happens fast—and it’s brutal
Lighting up and drinking—even more so
It wasn't always necessary to rub
The belly of that Buddha
Sometimes I felt sick to my stomach, wondering: "Who *are* these people?"
And I didn't know how to walk away
But it was actually simple
After all, we *are* grown-ups
Let's not forget that
Sometimes it hurt—hurting *for* you, and hurting *because* of you
But that’s okay
Because we *are* grown-ups
The manhole covers have been blown wide open
And I’d rather have done things my own way, back when I had the chance... I would have been left eyeless—
Well, temporarily, of course.
I read these lines specifically for you,
And I hope you’ll understand the intent—
After all, we are grown adults.
Flashbacks hit me like the Viet Cong storming my mind;
Strange hands grab at me—
Hold up, you bitches!
Back off, you fucking zombies!
After all, we are grown adults.
Nightmares and twisted deeds;
Surrounded by dimwits,
Schemes and shady deals,
Dicks and decoys,
Hooks, lures, and dirty tricks.

Whoa—
Suddenly vanished for a day or two,
Only for the guy next to me to catch a heavy sentence—years behind bars.
Was it God’s grace, or just some slick tricks?

Another year, another round of pure madness.
You think you’re a genius, but you’re just waiting for your next high.
Yeah, yeah—just kidding; he’s serious, not a clown.
I won’t just rap about "the struggle"—the album covers that enough.
Just kidding again—this theme will stay relevant for ages.
If you blow up the right way, you’ll hear the noise and the clamor.
But you’ll hear plenty of haters talking shit, too.
My verses hit so hard, the neighbors’ walls start weeping—the whole damn building gets soaked.
Some people aren't just "screwed up"—they stay that way forever.
The "service" went to the pawnshop long ago—pour the whiskey right into the saucers.
People go silent when my tracks play—that’s exactly the effect you want.
To achieve anything at all, you first have to step outside your four walls.
There’s nothing but empty space inside their skulls.
You could try to jump out of your own skin, but you’d still just end up looking gray.
It’s New Year’s contest time—let’s see who deserves a gift.
It won’t end well for the living—this is an assault by the dead.
What exactly are we preaching about in these songs?
I proposed to her, but she turned me down—it pisses me off.
I’m weighed down like heavy cargo from the Caspian Sea.
I ask her for some cash, and she sends me pics of her tits instead.
The moment you make it big as a banker, she’ll be kicking herself with regret.
Our rap hits hard—it blows your mind just like a drug.
My muse inspires me like a deep hit off a joint—isn't that true bliss?
I didn't answer for a long time—two years went by without... I'm throwing a fucking party.
I'm down in the trenches, loading up goods for the people.
What a "Morgenstern"—a real scarlet marketer.
A rap icon, worse than a leprechaun.
Come to my stand-up show, baby—we're gonna roast Manticore.