Текст песни KeRim prod. - Коматоз

Coma:

I repent in failures, grakers and topics
My horizon stipped his price
My name is White and Kerim production,
I smear evil, but I'm not so terrible ....

Raw city, october, meet me again,
The poet is crazy, MS, until the Wizard Wizard.
I refuse to tell you turns,
There is nothing in my head, only texts, notes.

God!? Why am I not far-sighted.
The poet inside is the soul! Killed her offensive!
He took up again for the feather, rhymes lost.
Muza dotted, crashed about reefs.

I squeezed all the juices to the last drop
No big pain, all fears are depressed.
There is a couple of people with me in my diocese
And there is no order in the head, the order of anarchy daughter.

But this time you wrote my murder
There is no suucide, in a certain sense.
It was sad, got mental injury,
Sorry, and drove down from the window frame

And so almost the dead became my talent,
Immersed in itself, as the Atlant under water.
Another year by shoulders, demanding the change of locations
How in intensive care? Create a set for operation!

Anasthesia in Vienna, Hururg Scalpel in hand
I was collected from Lego's cubes, not rude
I feel smells and sounds, drawing arrows
Those hours that filled out contracts and transactions

I'm afraid I can't wake up from coma
Stream to me with a rose, although not familiar
But just in case I will remember all dreams
And the interpreter with a dream, the moments are clear.

Heat or a drop nor a word in string
In the soul only cold, crawling from the east.
Let the muse sin and the lira are torn.
What was sighted, over the topics laugh.
On your rose-"dislike",
Spikes and blood nor a little strange ...
"Art - in the masses!" - Cheap slogan.
Coma is terrible. My world is in the threat
And opoessen is high prose, without a mask.
In art, the truth thickens paints.
Leave an attempt "art - in mass",
How the path is incorrect as the path in vain.
Oh this coma..sbgh !!! Path is painstaking.
Ready to sell, for a couple of hryvnia!

Sent to write-off, your strength on the wind
And even from the coma I can poke you.
Stubborn donkey, I will fight for life ...
Capture billboards, your fans aviation.

I compreheged everything, I apologize to God,
Less mat, more meaning, new road.
Fill on the pity of the remnant of the past
More truth, in the text less vulgar,

Heard through the sleep of Cheito ridiculous talk
I know without envy, anger will experience hunger
Dissolved rumors that the word my Tina,
Mouth open and swallow my Mäsko Psyche,

Your stop, Paphos, Goldstream, Coke,
In fact, Nishchebrhod with iPhone, Feng anal pos.
Feeling of mild, colic, adrenaline in the heart,
Now I wake up, it is rebeling, ha, no! Sunday.

And how in the past I will burn crowds and sheets.
In Facebook posts, my playlists.
Your talent is not understood, forgotten and a hundred years old how to rot.
Folding the airplane, I will run with a new single

I'll finish the album soon, I will finish all tracks
Dawn houses, but do not climb eyelids,
Louder munus, sound chasing Daki,
In the head of the Bardak, I am with music forever.

We will also teach you to live like a middle a hermit
Throw out your clothes, break the collar
Can not? No, you do not want! Look yourself
On me how to develop your styl, out of inside

You are the past. My progress ahead for hundreds of years
After all, your Flea slingshot is my crossbow!
Remember my tone, let him dream in a nightmare,
I came out of the coma, lit from micro, demolished you with heat.