мой бумажный пакет - Рассказ о том, кому на Руси жить хорошо
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мой бумажный пакет - Рассказ о том, кому на Руси жить хорошо - оригинальный текст песни, перевод, видео
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морозная синева,
во дворе сидит синегал,
в руке пакет самого блядского вина за 100 русских
хруст
под ногами,
грусть в панораме,
такую хуйню не покажут в пусть говорят
у него высшее техническое, он был на заводе типо главный инженер:
в будни работал, на выходных бил ебальник жене
ну а хули? пизда должна знать свое место –
швабра, кухня и в руки доместос
пока он делает в кабинете чертежи,
она трет его черкаши.
кому-то нужен хороший гашиш,
а у него забава лишь одна –
хуярить финляндию до дна
и чтобы было на закусь
занавес,
на кухне он бухает с приятелями.
предприятие
приватизировали:
половину работников на мороз, половину на хуй резиновый,
жену изнасиловали
два пьяных чеченца,
квартира сгорела. после такого сложно оставаться честным
теперь он живет в подвале
и для своего положения держится довольно похвально
он спит между двух отопительных труб
кроме него там ещё целая группа
обездоленных
летом ещё вполне ничего, а вот на зиму все накрывается пиздой
в тесноте, да не в обиде,
а на завтра кто-то проснется немного убитым
у кого-то спид,
у кого-то просто кровавый понос
запах пьяного говна щекочет ноздри
лучше утопиться в озере или хотя бы порадоваться одеколоном
пора одеваться с уклоном
на зимнюю моду
залечь в низинах под домами уродов
и потом кирять как Генри Чинаски
какой хуйни он только не начитался:
про классовую борьбу и про будущее торжество низов
от подобных историй лучше закрыться в СИЗО
или выстрелить себе в череп
на дне великой империи копошатся черви
он подбирает бутылки за молодым биомусором. у этих мудозвонов тоже свои проблемы:
кому-то телка не дает, а кто-то ищет себя в творчестве Лема
но ему это глубоко до пизды,
от тройки поднимается дым
он возвращается обратно в свое пристанище.
кого-то дома ожидает теплое влагалище,
а его лишь друзья по несчастью и бутылка портвейна
в подвале портрет Ленина,
на полу узорчатый ковер,
и все что будет дальше уже не ебет никого.
моя родина - совуха,
мой дом - это улица, моя комната - рухлядь,
моя кровать - это место куда не ляжет даже спидозная блядь.
но не жалейте меня, я прекрасно живу, ведь сегодня с ребятами мы нахуяримся опять.
frosty blue,
Sinegal sits in the courtyard
In the hand, a package of the fucking of the fucking wine for 100 Russians
crunch
Under the feet,
sadness in the panorama,
Such a garbage will not be shown in let them say
He has the highest technical, he was like a chief engineer at the factory:
He worked on weekdays, on the weekend the fuck was a fucking wife
Well, and huli? The pussy should know its place -
Shvabra, kitchen and in the hands of Domestos
While he makes drawings in his office,
She is learning his Cherkashi.
Someone needs a good hash,
And he has only one fun -
Fuck Finland to the bottom
And to be on a snack
a curtain,
In the kitchen, he thumps with his friends.
company
privatized:
half of the workers in the cold, half on the dick rubber,
The wife was raped
Two drunken Chechens
The apartment burned down. After such it is difficult to remain honest
Now he lives in the basement
and for its position is held quite commendable
He sleeps between two heating pipes
besides him there is still a whole group
disadvantaged
In the summer there is still nothing, but for the winter everything is covered with a pussy
in crowded but not mad,
And for tomorrow someone will wake up a little killed
Someone has AIDS
someone just has a bloody diarrhea
The smell of drunken shit tickles nostrils
It is better to drown in the lake or at least rejoice at the cologne
It's time to dress with a slope
for winter fashion
Lay in lowlands under the houses of freaks
And then to be picked like Henry Chinaski
What a huyni he just did not read:
About the class struggle and about the future triumph of the lower
It is better to close from such stories in a pre -trial detention center
or shoot your skull
Worms swarm at the bottom of the Great Empire
He picks up bottles of young biomusor. These asses also have their own problems:
the chick does not give someone, and someone is looking for himself in the work of Lem
But he is deep to the pussy,
Smoke rises from the three
He returns back to his refuge.
A warm vagina awaits someone at home,
And his only friends in misfortune and a bottle of port
In the basement, a portrait of Lenin,
On the floor, patterned carpet,
And all that will be next no one fucks anyone.
My homeland is ovukha,
My house is a street, my room is a collapse,
My bed is a place where even an auidable whore will not fall.
But do not spare me, I live well, because today with the guys we fuck again.
Sinegal sits in the courtyard
In the hand, a package of the fucking of the fucking wine for 100 Russians
crunch
Under the feet,
sadness in the panorama,
Such a garbage will not be shown in let them say
He has the highest technical, he was like a chief engineer at the factory:
He worked on weekdays, on the weekend the fuck was a fucking wife
Well, and huli? The pussy should know its place -
Shvabra, kitchen and in the hands of Domestos
While he makes drawings in his office,
She is learning his Cherkashi.
Someone needs a good hash,
And he has only one fun -
Fuck Finland to the bottom
And to be on a snack
a curtain,
In the kitchen, he thumps with his friends.
company
privatized:
half of the workers in the cold, half on the dick rubber,
The wife was raped
Two drunken Chechens
The apartment burned down. After such it is difficult to remain honest
Now he lives in the basement
and for its position is held quite commendable
He sleeps between two heating pipes
besides him there is still a whole group
disadvantaged
In the summer there is still nothing, but for the winter everything is covered with a pussy
in crowded but not mad,
And for tomorrow someone will wake up a little killed
Someone has AIDS
someone just has a bloody diarrhea
The smell of drunken shit tickles nostrils
It is better to drown in the lake or at least rejoice at the cologne
It's time to dress with a slope
for winter fashion
Lay in lowlands under the houses of freaks
And then to be picked like Henry Chinaski
What a huyni he just did not read:
About the class struggle and about the future triumph of the lower
It is better to close from such stories in a pre -trial detention center
or shoot your skull
Worms swarm at the bottom of the Great Empire
He picks up bottles of young biomusor. These asses also have their own problems:
the chick does not give someone, and someone is looking for himself in the work of Lem
But he is deep to the pussy,
Smoke rises from the three
He returns back to his refuge.
A warm vagina awaits someone at home,
And his only friends in misfortune and a bottle of port
In the basement, a portrait of Lenin,
On the floor, patterned carpet,
And all that will be next no one fucks anyone.
My homeland is ovukha,
My house is a street, my room is a collapse,
My bed is a place where even an auidable whore will not fall.
But do not spare me, I live well, because today with the guys we fuck again.
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