Тимур Шаов - Разговор с критиком
текст песни

He came with the face of the killer
With the appearance of evil bloodsuckers,
He said he was my critic
And my good desire,
What is to him, they say, my shallow
Aesthetically not!
I'm bullshit, and he is Belinsky,
All frantic.

I was indignant that I was dirty
Small, ugly
The word ugly - "orgasm"
I sing with impunity.
"You are not just sculpting the songs -
You are giving up to our morality!
You will answer for an orgasm
I will be a bastard, I give a tooth! "

I gasped with a shy
He began to ask for forgiveness.
I thought: "It's bad
This one can bite. "
He swept immensely,
I wanted to insult me.
"You are generally a nudist, probably!
And also put on glasses!

No, to sing about a tent and a bonfire,
About how the rain is not scary to us!
But you have settled like a malicious saltwalk,
In the womb of the suffered culture!

Cultures -
Culture,
Kul-Kul-Kul-Kul,,
Mul-mul-mul-mul.

I am harmful, I do not unlock.
I drowned Mu-mu, I repent.
I’ll say everything, I confess everything,
Just do not execute.
I bombed the Balkans
I tortured Corvan
And Alexandra Mirzayan
I planned to kill.

And how I will drink a polythera,
So I sit down to write hack.
A pedestal of native culture
I scratch the nail.
Slander and denigrator,
Young girls molester,
And in general, I am a pest doctor,
Come for an appointment!


If there is where paradise for bards -
I will not get there.
If there is where hell is for bards,
Then I burn in that hell.
And there are tents in paradise,
Everything is a free circle -
Tea is thick, and vinegar is sweet,
And all the songs are only about the fact that:

Long live tents and bonfire,
Our system is humane, developed tourism,
Leads the people to the victories of La Minor.
Everything else is revisionism.

And an angry worship
For someone else's virtue
These songs are for me
I put it on epitim.
You, he says, is obliged, even though I crack
Write one hundred twenty songs
About tourism and about forest
Blood in return ink.

I thought: "Got it, a shameful!
What do you need, man?
Seraphim you are six -winged
Well, tear off my sinful language! "
I listened, clapped my ears,
And when I was completely tired,
I said loudly: "Ass!"
Then he fainted.

But since then there is no rest in the soul,
And from the experience of this
Somehow I dreamed about Athanasius Fet,
Beating Ivan Semenych Barkov.

He pounded him with a brass knuckle
Cheated at the same time:
"I came to you with greetings
Tell that the sun rose,
What kind of poets
It is not worth it. "
And Barkov asked for forgiveness,
He burned a poem about Luke.
Here is such a sign
I dreamed of a fool.

But I wrote a song in spite of the enemies
Like one lover of a couple
By the fire, in the tent, under the guitar
Received a fiery orgasm.