Текст песни Вера Полозкова feat. Eduard Konovalov - Край у нас широк

You, saint merchants from the wheels
DECRECTIVERS OF Secret Messes
Sellers of ritual tears
Compositions of black plays
We are aging, alas
The authorities of this steppe are great
Fuel and grub gods
War and show
Here's a trash like you
Hating soul
So we have collected you here
So to speak, place an order:
We are knocked out of you
You are sitting immortal to us:
And schizophazia of our speeches
And mutations of our faces
Seal everything to the smallest detail
Remember everything to grains
To without prying eyes
Very quiet, because anyone will hand over
Tell your sons about us
Inspire them with their struggle
For influence on the minds
Most will break you later:
We are normal forces of darkness
We forgot the worst of all
So, the masters are good to chase
Ginger fools:
Open all the notebook
We write from the red line

We drank a bit too much for a real struggle against the regime
Little were sleeping to change the system:
But fate smiles at the obsessed
And we first became creatures, then heroes
Vseslil swallowed, swam to the surface
Turned into a profile on a coin
Slowly hang the fools that they came to overthrow us
No, someday is required. But not these
These do not really know anything except curses
Do not thump, do not know songs: they do not like life
So I say in interrogations: Judge yourself, buddy
How can such bores serve as a homeland?

Our edge is wide, abundant
Infinitely sacred
How many ancient dentitions do we have
Centuries -old murderer
In front of a traveler where it is black
Where else is it industrially not mastered
The whole horizon lies a flayer
And betrayal
Everyone is vaccinated with us, anesty
The authorities are absolutely loyal
This is heard with each of the bell
He’s from all chapcosakid is
And sweet -haired, like Sirin
And beautiful, like Stalin
We are ruled by the one who is omnipotent
And perfect
With delight, we do not swear more obscenities
Do not fight, do not smoke
On weekends only to ATMs
Released from prisons
At school, without questions and oncoming replicas
Our kids, beauty-sheds
Collect us from spiritual scrapers
The layouts of hell
Judging by how Weretuhai bypass us gloomy
And they are supplied to the sound, trembling,
A large literature will break through soon again
And cinema

On Bronnaya, by the Big Mat
The fifth column sat down
Brodsky read to each other
Where we will take, Gregory
Cargo Idiom and Allegory
And common myths
And quotes?
How to measure their overallness?
We are looking for who will dissuade us
Palm over the right sleeve:
- What? "In literature"? "Elite"?
Come on, bastard, get
Without turning around
Look, yet?
Joke about the old-random
Until the suitcase is collected
And over Moscow
Cheerful heat
And children know how in Russian
"Kapuns" and "wagtails"
And "Ryazhenka"
And "rifled"

You begin to whine like a dog, a flameless nonsense:
There, around the story, the explosion throws back
And here the wind goes through the forest, blowing like foam, snow
So that the lungs are not enough to retell it
Through the thickness of death, through a tight reactive rumble
The future that rushes like acidic rain:
Speak everything as it is, say through "I can't"
Speak, as if you know exactly what you are going to
You will never understand what is right, you will not feel how rich
Unless quatrains, go to the beat
The old man leaves the snowfall
And sorrowfully signs to himself