Стефания Данилова - Так мы младенцами на руках
текст песни

So we will put the babies in the arms of the grandmothers,

And then Orem: "Your bed rest

Tired of me to brutal colic! "

And go to the tusa friends of alcoholics

On abandoned floors.



So we hold the hand in the hand of the mother, bring out "a",

We learn that learning is light, ignorance - darkness,

And then we shout: "You ruined my childhood!

From studying this stupid where do I go? "

We go off the rail

And crazy.



So we go to church, listen to Christ

and about the Virgin Mary, drawn on canvas,

and then we lose virginity with someone to the dispute,

And you can’t restore it like a passport,

Plus a baby

On the tail.


So we sleep, hugging gently our gutter,

and we kiss them on a pure high forehead,

And then we demonstratively write in the status -

Like, I will stay with another tonight,

Yes, I'm an asshole

And Ostolop.



So we are in the smoking room for a walk,

And then, when we find ourselves in ZhE,

For example, in a burning child of the apartment,

We lose the landmarks

And we hide in the garage.



So we swear at eternal in the coffin of love,

And when she picks up SARS,

We go to kiss at night clubs,

Lipping lipstick lipstick

Believing - this is with us

in blood.



So we ask you to buy kittens in adolescence,

Even if parents do not want it,

and kittens in the morning we will be woke up to school,

We cut off their tail - see what will happen

Home cinema.



So we try light cats for the first time

a friend has a hut, and sparks fly from eyes,

and then in our eyes-beads

Watching mom, dad, doctor from the hospital,

And this is the tenth grade.



So we pass by the one we beat

Because at home we are waiting for VKontakte, sofa, comfort,

After we see a photo of the best friend in the yellow press,

The one who has never told you "you went"

Or "Your mother."



So we leave proudly as Tamerlan,

Because she flew and no longer sweet

We are going to fuck who is fucked up

And then we are filled with liquid fear,

Upon learning that she was dead.



So we kiss my mother in childhood every night,

And then we grow up without a desire to help her,

or we beat our feet in old age for illness,

to the blood, whose taste becomes all the iron,

And we leave away.



So we talk about the god of nasty things,

And then Orem: "Please open!"

Breaking the knuckles about the door of the paradise,

If we are dying in agony,

Not a penny of a penny,

What do we do.