Текст песни Слава КПСС - В ФУТБОЛКЕ БАБАНГИДА

Happy Birthday Sanya & # 33; 35 is not a date & # 33;
E & # 33;

[Verse 1, Glory to the CPSU]:
In a T-shirt & quot; Babangida & quot; with a beautiful mustache;
In a coat from Germany, delirium, and though not around a pot.
But my life is beautiful - capelin, viskarik breads.
I lay down on the shkonarik, think about Sana'a.

And the swastika above us blushes in the wormy sky,
We smoke already in Kronstadt, you are fastening someone in tanks.
And the music is playing, the rotter has changed into a shadow
Today there is a mood to be sad, because we are getting old & # 33;

Fruit liqueur
Beer and hashish tile -
A courier, like Babangida, I & # 33;
I am 26, but it’s not visible to me, it is not visible to me & # 33;

Fruit liqueur
Beer and hashish tile -
A courier, like Babangida, I & # 33;
I'm 35, but it’s not visible to me, it is not visible to me & # 33;

[Verse 2, HAN ZAMAI]:
I am 29, so soon 30 & # 33;
A bit scary, because years are a killer.
And remind Sanya, I'm a little bug
But it’s not a knight, but I’ll also live & # 33;

After all, while the dodgers march past
In search of profit - we scream a line & # 33;
We don’t just pile bricks here,
But to build at least something like Timujin.

Yes, quite pathetic, present,
Like I did not try anymore and fucked hot & # 33;
Yes, everything is so brother, but I'm not ashamed & # 33;
I live, as it turns out - without hidden meanings.

After all, Sanya said: & quot; Bring the wick, quickly,
Until the fire goes out in the chest
And while you're alive, set fire to everything around & quot; -
And so I decided and play the game & # 33;

I'm here & # 33; Hello & # 33; In a T-shirt & quot; Babangida & quot; & # 33;
I’m still a rogue, I have swaston magen David on me.
In bed, my Russia, and my mother-Ukraine & # 33;
I'm sorry my rap I'm 29 -
But for me it is not visible, for me it is not visible & # 33;

I'm here & # 33; Hello & # 33; In a T-shirt & quot; Babangida & quot; & # 33;
I’m still a rogue, I have swaston magen David on me.
In bed, my Russia, and my mother-Ukraine & # 33;
I'm sorry my rap I'm 35 -
But for me it is not visible, for me it is not visible & # 33;

[Verse 3, OVSYANKIN]:
Tear-off calendar, 17th
- This is my next September.
I understood one thing - these years are bitches,
They want to chop off everything faster with me & # 33;

But they hardened Siberia with cold,
And now - do not extinguish me, like a wick & # 33;
Well then & # 33; Come on, lead me on.
I spend one already seventh anniversary & # 33;

But while the little soul is tucked into the skeleton,
Tucked neatly like a pin.
Well hidden, like in a Stiletto house,
They say: & quot; Everything is perishable & # 33; & quot; But on the other hand, you hear:

& quot; Only fools say so to you & # 33; & quot;
But then, for whom the crab ponds cry,
Still remembering, as in the old courtyard
Drove a battered ball in a Babangida t-shirt?

I open archives in the ghetto of ridiculous people
Yes, I raise the gate by the cloak.
They say: it’s easier for those who can’t forgive,
Be it a random push in the transition
Or the doctor’s total mistake.
But you choose: whom to give for tea,
And whom to upset.

Here he is, my Paradise
Everyone chooses to match the moral & # 33;
After all, you can be at 35, like a child yelling from happiness,
Type: no one decree for me & # 33;

But for today, your light is Newcastle,
Therefore, you do not have enough strength to resist.

Like a kicked out woman & # 33;
Now, take a different look at things & # 33;
(do not be shy, like me)
And at 35 you will find the capital of rap, in this country of women & # 33;