Гуф - мам прости меня прости меня папа
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Такая музыка я чувствую, что я обязан
Написать очередную грустную песню про Айзу.
И по мазе так было бы правильно,
Мы сняли бы сопливый клип, и на радио ее взяли бы.
Рассказал бы как сильно я люблю свою жену,
Просил бы простить меня за то, что плохо себя веду.
В кадре снял бы сына и Москву реку,
Я держу его за руку на берегу и выиграл бы стабильно.
Но тут другая картина, душа излита водиле,
Башляю сверху полтинник серой девятины.
Или зайти к Тамаре Контстанитновне,
Но стыдно - я синий в мясину,
К томуже уже 4 утра. светает, нельзя.
И меня везет на базу выходец из средней азии.
Полчаса до дома скручу пона,
Сяду скромно у окна и запишу тречок про ганджубасик
Мама прости меня, прости меня папа
За кумар, прости за запах.
Дым под потолок, пепел на пол.
Ваш сынок занимается хип хапом.
Мама прости меня, прости меня папа
За кумар, прости за запах.
Дым под потолок, пепел на пол.
Сынок занимается хип хапом.
Сколько раз я уже читал об этом,
Сколько еще зачитаю - я не знаю,
Но знаю, что это не вредно.
Меня называли конченным, тэрчем, конркретным.
Я постоянно умираю. Как мне вас жалко, бедные.
Белые найки кеды - медленно по можайке еду.
Парень с дредами, дай мне два пакета.
Бумажек нету. Ну а че за бред то?
Бонг полтора метра в нем чистоганом гидра.
Делаю три подряд. Ни хапки с утра.
Sorry, братан. Мир. На связи. Нам пора, до завтра.
Я курю как и курил, походу буду дуть всегда.
Досадно, правда, факт остается фактом.
Пока я не скручу, я не могу позавтракать,
Я не усну, пока не взорву бланта
Я как-то пробовал подвязывать,
И было дело держался полгода, но все шло как-то не так.
Все было хорошо я ловил бодряк, был добряк.
Говорят даже взгляд стал приятным,
Но за полгода не было и дня,
Чтобы я не мечтал о той маленькой, спрятанной пятке.
Не слушайте этого дядю, ребятки.
С ним давно все понятно, он поет только про бяки.
А я возьму в руки мазафакин факел. в трубке травка.
И мне пофиг. You now I like it.
Давай-ка, приходи
Да я люблю подуть один, но не суть вдвоем посидим,
Как мы любим: на берегу Москвы реки.
С легкой руки сочиним стихи про косяки.
Не ну ты прикинь приколотил себе пару штакетов,
Покурил на крыше, потупил там до рассвета.
По шурику нашевелил про это пару куплетов.
Проще ничо нету, но все же я бы не советовал.
Мама прости меня, прости меня папа
За кумар, прости за запах.
Дым под потолок, пепел на пол.
Ваш сынок занимается хип хапом.
Мама прости меня, прости меня папа
За кумар, прости за запах.
Дым под потолок, пепел на пол.
Сынок занимается хип хапом.
Such music I feel that I owe
Write another sad song about Aizu.
And on MAZ it would be right
We would have shot a snotty clip, and on the radio we would take it.
I would tell how much I love my wife,
I would ask me to forgive me for being bad.
In the frame I would take off my son and Moscow a river,
I hold his hand on the shore and would win stably.
But here another picture, the soul is poured out,
I have a fifty dollars of gray nine on top.
Or go to Tamara Containerovna,
But I'm ashamed - I'm blue in the flesh,
The same is already 4 in the morning. It is light, you can’t.
And I am lucky to the base a native of Central Asia.
Half an hour to the house I will twist ponu,
I’ll sit modestly by the window and write down a crack about ganjubasik
Mom forgive me, forgive me dad
For Kumar, sorry for the smell.
Smoke under the ceiling, ashes to the floor.
Your son is engaged in hip hap.
Mom forgive me, forgive me dad
For Kumar, sorry for the smell.
Smoke under the ceiling, ashes to the floor.
The son is engaged in hip hap.
How many times have I read about it,
How much more I will read - I don't know
But I know that this is not harmful.
I was called the ended, Terch, Conrgetable.
I am constantly dying. How sorry for you, poor.
White Naiki sneakers - slowly along the moza, food.
A guy with the dreadlocks, give me two bags.
There are no pieces of paper. Well, what is nonsense?
Bong one and a half meters in it is a purely guitan.
I do three in a row. Not a hack in the morning.
Sorry, bro. World. In touch. We have to go, until tomorrow.
I smoke as I smoked, I will always blow the campaign.
An annoying, however, the fact remains.
Until I twist, I can't have breakfast,
I will not fall asleep until I blow up the blat
I somehow tried to tie up
And it was a matter of six months, but everything went wrong.
Everything was fine, I caught a Bodryak, was a good -natured man.
They say even the look became pleasant
But for six months there was no day
So that I do not dream of that small, hidden heel.
Do not listen to this uncle, guys.
Everything is clear with him for a long time, he sings only about Byaki.
And I will pick up Mazafakin a torch. In the tube is grass.
And I do not care. You Now I Like it.
Come on, come
Yes, I love to blow alone, but not the essence of the two of us sit,
As we love: on the banks of Moscow, the river.
With a light hand, compose poems about jamb.
Don't you knead you pinned a couple of pickets,
He smoked on the roof, pulled there until dawn.
According to Shurik, I found a couple of verses about this.
It’s easier to not, but still I would not advise.
Mom forgive me, forgive me dad
For Kumar, sorry for the smell.
Smoke under the ceiling, ashes to the floor.
Your son is engaged in hip hap.
Mom forgive me, forgive me dad
For Kumar, sorry for the smell.
Smoke under the ceiling, ashes to the floor.
The son is engaged in hip hap.
Write another sad song about Aizu.
And on MAZ it would be right
We would have shot a snotty clip, and on the radio we would take it.
I would tell how much I love my wife,
I would ask me to forgive me for being bad.
In the frame I would take off my son and Moscow a river,
I hold his hand on the shore and would win stably.
But here another picture, the soul is poured out,
I have a fifty dollars of gray nine on top.
Or go to Tamara Containerovna,
But I'm ashamed - I'm blue in the flesh,
The same is already 4 in the morning. It is light, you can’t.
And I am lucky to the base a native of Central Asia.
Half an hour to the house I will twist ponu,
I’ll sit modestly by the window and write down a crack about ganjubasik
Mom forgive me, forgive me dad
For Kumar, sorry for the smell.
Smoke under the ceiling, ashes to the floor.
Your son is engaged in hip hap.
Mom forgive me, forgive me dad
For Kumar, sorry for the smell.
Smoke under the ceiling, ashes to the floor.
The son is engaged in hip hap.
How many times have I read about it,
How much more I will read - I don't know
But I know that this is not harmful.
I was called the ended, Terch, Conrgetable.
I am constantly dying. How sorry for you, poor.
White Naiki sneakers - slowly along the moza, food.
A guy with the dreadlocks, give me two bags.
There are no pieces of paper. Well, what is nonsense?
Bong one and a half meters in it is a purely guitan.
I do three in a row. Not a hack in the morning.
Sorry, bro. World. In touch. We have to go, until tomorrow.
I smoke as I smoked, I will always blow the campaign.
An annoying, however, the fact remains.
Until I twist, I can't have breakfast,
I will not fall asleep until I blow up the blat
I somehow tried to tie up
And it was a matter of six months, but everything went wrong.
Everything was fine, I caught a Bodryak, was a good -natured man.
They say even the look became pleasant
But for six months there was no day
So that I do not dream of that small, hidden heel.
Do not listen to this uncle, guys.
Everything is clear with him for a long time, he sings only about Byaki.
And I will pick up Mazafakin a torch. In the tube is grass.
And I do not care. You Now I Like it.
Come on, come
Yes, I love to blow alone, but not the essence of the two of us sit,
As we love: on the banks of Moscow, the river.
With a light hand, compose poems about jamb.
Don't you knead you pinned a couple of pickets,
He smoked on the roof, pulled there until dawn.
According to Shurik, I found a couple of verses about this.
It’s easier to not, but still I would not advise.
Mom forgive me, forgive me dad
For Kumar, sorry for the smell.
Smoke under the ceiling, ashes to the floor.
Your son is engaged in hip hap.
Mom forgive me, forgive me dad
For Kumar, sorry for the smell.
Smoke under the ceiling, ashes to the floor.
The son is engaged in hip hap.
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