ЮГ - Мутно
текст песни

Mak:
Paul six, the city of sleepy thunders wagons,
We leave home, avoiding people with epaulets
In addition to them, buses and taxi passing nearby slurry shine with headlights
past the garbage of the bazaars closed bars
Along along wet sidewalks with fumes, lack of sleep, creaking boots
Catch the rhythm of either a newspaper of the old or a bottle by a biture
Rainbow spilled in puddles of gasoline spots
In them, like in the mirror of color shop windows
Flower baskets near the subway, a tray with newspapers
blinking yellow lights of dawn
The song is spinning in the tongue yesterday
Rain licks the streets, the sky frowns
cigarette smoking ashes falling
falling asleep on the go, I'm going to my home

Whale:
I don’t remember how much they drank at night
All of their own were, they talked a lot
discussed what there will be with us further under the program
Without looking at the watch, tomorrow is not everyday life
They argued to hoarse, laughed to the hiccups
jokes, auto, moto, led, photos, cinema, video, radio, hunting and something else
Do not remember at once the ointment, his gaze drowned in the smoke tobacco
They dogs with neighbors - how else
The evening was careless of a lively speech
And it seemed endless, as if eternal
The list made the list of songs with a trifle census
The volume of the music of the wall is narrow wider moved
Tikalo time, noting mits joy
That's all that remains in the morning in the morning
Lalallaaaaaaaa
La-la-la-la with a hangover muuuuto
La-la-la-la everyone with a good wool
Where is Bukloooo

Screw:
Drafting beer in the first metro train from Avtozavodskaya
I look out the window to Kolomenskaya
I see the sails of houses over the Moscow River
Southern Station River, Dosilov Pipes
Lyubo-roads of the road of the native district
I'm sleepy to the house to hap rest
air mixture inhaling the morning mixture
I exhale with rhymes at the output of exhalations
Apparently they drank great yesterday, racks his head
I feel the fresh stream of air acutely
I listen to the rustles of the city as if the best
music of old composers, and under the sweater
heart with a pulse falling into the rhythm knocks
Far in the chest seems to be, but it smells the homeland
Here is the house, I open the door with the key
took off his shoes, and sleep after the party

MF:
how sometimes I want the night to end
But when I am a sutra on the streets of the city
bursts a proud sense of native walls
I would take a hat in front of that on Sovetskaya Square
what is sitting on a horse, he is all good
And thanks to fate that I am abandoned here
between seven hills skewed by new buildings
I return with a drinking room, I meet a dawn
not so embroidered that it would collapse down
if I had not absorbed beauty unthinkable
inexpressible words, especially numbers
After the rain, clean, close and native
I go home, accelerating puddles with my foot
wet, chilled, tired, still dry
with money, a goglyak, did not sleep, gloated
Everything is so, but then everything is Nishtyak now
Nishtyayayayayayak
La-la-la-la with a hangover muuuuto
La-la-la-la everyone with a good wool
La-la-la-la with a hangover muuuuto
La-la-la-la everyone with a good wool
Lalalaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa