Макулатура - утопия
текст песни

I won't become an old man who feeds pigeons
Pi**yuli - drinking buddies, youngsters - muzzle
I'll smoke on the porch wearing a Morbid T-shirt
Grandmothers who meet me will remember me by the grimace on my face

They won't suit me, I'm like old Golovin
I’ll call myself a succubus and fall into the smoke with her
Symbolists and Art Nouveau, Mannerists and the French
Mallarmé, Auguste Rodin, Baudelaire and Misha Krug

I regret that I once sang a funny rap
I hope the genre dies, but Zamai, of course, doesn’t
It will be staged in the evening in Sokolniki Park
At dances for the hearing impaired and other beneficiaries

District police officer Vasya is holding stacks of cases for me
For mansplaining, chauvinism and slandering the president
But I didn’t choose it, I want to walk alone
Around the house, activists, don't f*ck up, please

Young people seem to be rushing to the festival
Yesterday I would have been with them, but today - sorry
There's no thrill in listening to this shit
Everyone is the same, you can only become Satan

I'm alone on the ship, muttering the same thing
I curse the entire sublunary world, I have lived too long
It doesn't look like I'll see the finale in my lifetime.
Humanity is like a hernia, the doctor slept through the operation

I reject your world like Golovin
The main opponent of a fun game
You are all winners, equal to each other
I'm drinking alone in a torn jacket

I'm like a lump at the window with a check and tea
The world of glitch is a farce, and there is no melancholy or despair
Just boredom, watching the winners eat feces
While I'm drinking alone in a torn jacket

Fines are falling on me like snow, I live outside the law
After all, I don’t wear a muzzle and fuck without a ****
There are no funds in my account, but, in general, I’m somehow fine
Send love letters and royalties to ex-wives

Like young Limonov, my half-century-old body
Always in search of adventure, wine, revolutionaries
I send a fig from the horizontal bars to the feds grazing in a wheelbarrow
Hey, trash can, don't walk by - how much will you fine me today?

Queue the court, see you in twenty years
The world has turned into a concentration camp, try to fuck with me
Who is in power there now, who is better at sucking off the Chinese?
They continue to multiply, and there will be a government of Zashchekan residents

But I’m an old-fashioned patriot, like Alexander Gelyevich
I’ll throw bombs at the enemies of my homeland, they’re completely crazy
The mayor of the city, Vyacheslav Karelin, calls me:
“Calm down,” he says, “old man, we’ll write off debts, give you medals and a pension.”

And I throw my push-button mobile phone straight from the embankment into the Neva
Only when I lie down in the coffin, maybe I will become obedient
But even the grave doesn't fix some hunchbacks
If my descendants dig it up, they'll see a boner on my corpse.

With my blue blood I write poems and pamphlets
The third eye is opening for subscribers of my Telegram newspaper
I'm going to die in prison or a home for the weak-minded.
My contemporaries cannot comprehend even a third of my greatness

I reject your world like Golovin
The main opponent of a fun game
You are all winners, equal to each other
I'm drinking alone in a torn jacket

I'm like a lump at the window with a check and tea
The world of glitch is a farce, and there is no melancholy or despair
Just boredom, watching the winners eat feces
While I'm drinking alone in a torn jacket