Текст песни palach - Вопросы наизнанку

part I

Chorus:
I understood in one moment - music is my vitamin,
Circle of people, louder than the beat, do you know what i mean?
It's easier to live in thicker slabs when something warms up in your chest,
The whole inner world inside out, the wick smolders.

Verse 1:
I never dressed like a rapper
He did not behave to match and did not distort his timbre in the songs.
I didn’t sell a teenager in public,
Loyal to culture and people - do not care, let the herd of idols stick.

For each text like ten years ago, with trepidation,
All myself inside out - a record, a mixing, it's all here.
It's not for labor, old school, that earlier the grass is greener,
No, just verses for their own, which for many years have already believed.

Questions are open, no one has grown to the time of that
Where it is easy to find meaning, to be consciously cosmolite.
And age is not at all an assistant, but definitely not an enemy,
Although it will hardly be easier with him in a fight, keep your blow harder.

Why do cities need people that they are ruining themselves?
Dividing the minutes into vyhi and everyday life they sit stupidly.
Why does money need people? Smiles boldly bought
Throwing from the windows under Beethoven by Stanley Kubrick.

Verse 2:
All bluff - not a blanket, coffee and muffins warm:
some once a year are stable in Cyprus, some only for fluorography.
Whatever one may say, there is a desire to smoke on the coast,
as well as on rooftops, where all are just ants and a small world

Melts inside, crushes in the sternum, but Kai leaves -
the right choice, which one of you is Gary Houdini in love?
There are only waves and screams on the ocean
they do not care who scored there and who is your favorite.

The main thing is to feel the pulse of the city at night, which is empty,
evening traffic jams on the bridge - I know everything by heart.
And in them all those who from morning to night without rest (that's how),
because you always want to spend more than you earned.

Herd of mares under the hood
or flying under the hum of turbines, a dense stream of clouds in the windows,
Why are people for fear? Years will pass - but you couldn't and trembled,
guesswork doesn't become dogma.

part II

The truth is hidden within the walls of the labyrinth of creative procrastination
Here many are so gray-haired that we remember the fame of the Vistantia group.
You need eternity, a price list and a smack in order to get out of the labyrinth alive,
And I'm waiting in the tenth comment from Paradise "The quarterfinals have already been."

Submit the documents to print, the required signature will appear immediately,
The sixth couples list meant a transfer to the hospice for Alex.
Questions turned inside out, napalm in rhythm for you,
Who here screwed up the style of CV, removing offbeat and adding vocals?

The master of allusions will load you in, with the sad songs hand on the pulse,
A sweet-voiced singer for puberty girls, the mainstay of their sensual music.
But what have you forgotten where the bullets whistle? Everything will be in the graves six months later.
So hava nagila so far, we are unlikely to soon see your face on the news.

And in our rap bureau, someone is pretty drunk with wine,
Fuck you Rabyrow, brother, rest in peace to you.
What are you talking about? Copies the blacks, the text perechov,
Fuck you black, only Sam Seleznev is blacker than you.

Here everyone wants fame, not to merge with the crowd, to take the first prize and peace of mind.
Than they write their posthumous epicrisis in the fires of ambition, like Sherman McCoy.
Battle sweepstakes, rap bets, but that's the limit
Better to bet who will return with Jerome to NTL.

And without a doubt, Insomnia has weight, fuck me
How he got in here would be strange - the style is not dysphonia.
I didn’t look intently at the game - it clearly looks like
Your hostage of style opopsel, again the same thing.

To yourself a eulogy on battle is the sacred task of any creator,
It is necessary to suck on all opponents, the judges, they must be shredded.
On the forum, the humor of Regina Dubovitskaya is two thousand seventeen just right, dude,
Show very clearly how you have not evolved, laughing because of the song "Vova the Plague".

This is a level, because a joke for twelve years has been weighing on your brain,
Step in step - we are waiting for avatars in Guy Fawkes masks!
It's not so easy to be invisible, but necessary as air,
Mortal are your songs for teenagers (what will remain after?)

Why does the battle need participants? Why rap singers?
Why should we feel insomnia when we are happy when we see dreams?