Гашан - Рэпортаж
текст песни

We're reporting from the street, right from the scene of the events
Unfolding before our very eyes, aren't you getting it, whiner?
An amateur poet narrates in rhyme.
Originally from Muscau City, but I also respect St. Petersburg.
I sing casually to a brilliant beat by Serge.
I love rap music as much as ever, we maintain a high level.
I'm from the Northwestern Administrative District.
Which is on the border of my favorite city.
Lifelong traffic jams, endless congestion.
Kilometer-long fences, the poisonous smoke of factories.
I don't follow fashion, I choose feasts in the capital.
My name is Tyler Durden, and this is "Project Mayhem."
It was long ago approved by the fight club's management.
We are just cells in a matrix of concrete boxes.
A bloodhound and a sullen detective in uniform follow us.
With a nose powdered with coconut, working as a vacuum cleaner.

The tedious daily routine has worn me out, you're wounded and killed.
On The view is not erudite, your personal guide
Gashan will create a conflict for you to the beat
A cop versus a gangster, Aibolit won't cure

Alexey Guf moved from the center to the Moscow region
And we're still ruining our health there
Chronic cough, coughing up soot with blood
Or they've hammered, rolled, and smoked something in the car
After a couple of fat braids, I'll want a kilogram of sausage
While I'm eating, don't pee, don't tuck your shirt into your pants
The hands on the chimes are barely moving, the clock has stopped
I look at the world in slow motion
Analyzing and drawing conclusions about my adventures
Pensioners are fighting at a sale at Pyaterochka
Homeless people are begging for cash for vodka in the underground passages
Someone's Cayenne is parked near a bar, its exhaust is gone Headlights
The guys will cash them out tomorrow at Mitino Market
And spend all the proceeds on pretty blondes
Enterprising Lisa sold her pussy to an expat for a high price
Lisa's sister caught wind of this and wanted to do the same

Basically, everyone's busy, the crooks are building housing
Security officials are protecting businessmen, blackmailing them for dirty laundry
They're throwing them over the hip, scamming the unlucky ones
Squeezing cutlets, you know where you are? In the ghetto! Ask the school kids where to get high.
Underage girls, almost like sluts.
Answering the teacher at the blackboard, they don't cover their nipples.
Cops point ID cards at their faces, haven't earned enough cash.
The taunts of alligators and underworld suckers.
We've all gotten by from scratch, but we'll take what's ours and yours.
Stolen cars, broken safes, custom-made hits.
I watch everything from the sidelines, the draft has blown away the splats.
Neighborhoods, doorways, neighborhoods, courtyards, dumpsters, basements.
Slums from the last century, cops stalk us with binoculars.
We don't live here, we survive in ruins. Run away.
In the Minotaur's labyrinth, the sucker barbarian will perish.