Counterfeit Trucks on the Highway,
our Product is moving in Moscow,
in Reotov, the boys poured glasses,
I'll say something, you remember.
Kilograms of Snow on the track
My generation is stuck in the Mud,
This clinging Mud, you feel with your whole Body
and you don't want to lose, you are in touch with her ...
Everybody wants boys for basins,
Girls want them, Garbage wants from them
studios go out to them, Labels want them
The clubs want them, the Hut Sessions want them.
I repeat every time about Music,
phase fluctuations, into space more often than Nasa,
you lose Masses like in Sausage,
and can you just fuck your mind like the masses
You catch the meaning of the Track, brothers understand it
rushing strongly, so his mother, the arrow on the clock face is running
we don't waste our time just like that,
if we kill, we blow up with a scythe, as we spent.
No idle, Yes, live bullets,
hot minds did not cool down on the battlefield.
This Representative for the whole Brotherhood
It's our time to dot the I ...
