Тяжёлая атлетика - КЛЮКВА
текст песни

This isn't cranberry
The bitch threw on a miniskirt
I'm fidgeting with my jacket here on beats
Serious confusion
How do you like my bow, dumbass
I'm not trendy
My brain isn't clogged with gossip
I walk on glass like Necro, to some extent
I don't see the neighbors, nor the guests since childhood
Maybe I've smoked a lot, but that's natural
Don't be afraid, brother, to break the dead end on a quest
I'm pushing 200 and I'm not my godson
Propek hits the roof in the morning like fucking Nesquik
You're no more than a Pekingese to your bitch
You're walking on thin ice
They'll dump you like Messi (Stop)
Your girlfriend is moaning from the cranberry mixture
Throwed jokes down my pants
Arm wrestlers in the back
Deep thoughts about the stairs up
Or just hang everyone to minimal techno

On Cranberry juice on my girlfriend's lips
This isn't soda
Lucid dreams under my head
I shake Anton Solodov's hand
Fell into a rap cult when I was young
Hidden my face under my beard, now I look straight
Liquor flies straight into my womb
All the windows fogged up
Fucking her outside the city
Literally lied about dollars
Tenge in my pocket
Woke up the crows
Children on her face
Drenched the donor with tears

Conor's self-confidence
While you were using a dollar
I fucked her naked somewhere outside the city
Aptly stoned
These notes are jokes in simple language
I don't follow the law
It's Elvis, poetry weighing a ton
Buried hydropon
Fuck this sought-after thing
The world of insects
Freeze for a second and think about something weighty
It won't be compressed
Sleepless weekdays
I was weightless, but I forgot this dream
Time flows like sand
I'll throw a Tissot on my hand
There was cranberry juice in her glass
The scales are somewhere around a hundred
Tell me, when were the heavens woven?
I'm setting fire to the roof of a high-rise
I'm lighting it up again on high, yeah

The demons sing in unison with me
The salon is cozy and the waiter is smoldering
A lucid dream, or were you just in a daze
I'm always in leading roles, not in the crowd
I'm wearing Reebok sneakers, cranberry-colored socks
I'll pour this juice on the beat
Like a katana, it'll kill with a scythe here
The drugs in it are real
It's a dance of shadows and it's special, yeah

And it's not cranberry, brother
All whores will have their day someday You're screwed
You're wearing haute couture cowards
We're forging a sound in the subway, tightening the collar
In the morning, the wineskin had spilled, a bad guy wrote to me in private
A virtuoso of the world, a glorious asshole
Winter is just around the corner, but supplies are saving
I'm getting ready for bed
Our rap, deep in the burrows of our brains, is essentially rushing
Our whole life is at a crossroads
Devils are shaking their pussies outside the city
I'm sitting and watching how a sour guy draws stories for me
You're risking your life, bastard
I'm lying there, picking, stoned
I know how Ted Bundy, tripping after penetrating wounds, made you dogs curl up
I'm dreaming how I'm running straight away from myself
Through the prism of desires
I'm looking through the looking glass
Like Yegor Gagarin is playing cards there (Yeah)

Through the prism of desires, I cast my gaze at the fucking map.
I sit and watch through reality.
Blue meth through the body's nostrils will punish all the whores of repentance.
There's no point under the stones.
I see how everyone is slowly being pedaled.
The system feeds the soul.
Athletics is smoothly taking off now.
Athletics is smoothly taking off.
We're kicking souls (yeah, yeah, yeah)