Ultras - Фанат
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Отсееванья правил-только свои нужно править,
Только за идею, только за своих и только правых,
Свой жёлто синий флаг ставить выше триколора,
Несмотря что на ТВ все воют по другому.
На порах ненависти, на порах патриотизма,
Он убивает левых, ведь стране обязан жизнью,
Он убивает левых за команду, за трибуны,
Отдавая им себя пока кто-то бухает в клубах.
Сегодня он за партой, завтра он идет на сектор,
Сегодня у него пиджак, завтра Лакоста кепка,
Сегодня он как все, сегодня вокруг радость веет,
Завтра врага в грязь, завтра в крови весь Лонсдейл.
Без этого никак, без этого он сам ни свой,
Все эти банера свои заряды за спиной,
Их не понять, их не поймать, их больше миллиона,
Ими гордиться команда, ими дышат стадионы.
Удар еще удар, бело-синий, бело-красный,
ОУЗБ и точка-он становиться "опасным",
ОУЗБ альянс, крики Fair play на поле,
И на районе теперь стороной его обходят,
На выезд тратит больше чем на новую одежду
И новые друзья, и все не будет так как прежде,
Закрыв глаза на то что фаер обжигает руку,
Но зрелище,что будет так захватывает дух.
Поменьше бы нацизма, больше национализма,
За этот герб на груди будет своими признан,
За новую идею, солдат своей страны,
Его выводит старый флаг красный от крови.
Свастики нет, Main Kampf-нет, нет фашизму,
Сыты по горло всем этим псевдо-патриотизмом,
Так много фейка, так много фейков на трибунах,
ЕСЛИ ТРУ РУКА К СЕРДЦУ, У ПОЗЕРОВ К ВЕРХУ!
The cuts of the rules should only be edited,
Only for the idea, only for their own and only right,
Put your yellow blue flag above the tricolor,
Despite the fact of the TV, everyone howls differently.
On the pores of hatred, on the pores of patriotism,
He kills the left, because the country owes his life,
He kills the left for the team, for the stands,
Giving them himself while someone is thumping in clubs.
Today he is at a desk, tomorrow he goes to the sector,
Today he has a jacket, tomorrow Lacosta Ketka,
Today he is like everyone else, today the joy blows around,
Tomorrow the enemy is in the mud, tomorrow in the blood all of Lonsdale.
Without this, without this, he himself is not his own,
All these banners are their charges behind their backs,
They cannot be understood, they cannot be caught, there are more than a million of them,
They are proud of the team, they breathe stadiums.
The blow is still a blow, white-blue, white-red,
OUZB and point-on become "dangerous",
OUZB Alliance, Fair Play screams on the field,
And now they go around it in the area,
Spends more on the exit than on new clothes
And new friends, and everything will not happen as before,
Closing his eyes to the fact that Faer burns his hand,
But the sight that will be so breathtaking.
Less Nazism, more nationalism,
For this coat of arms on the chest will be recognized as its own
For a new idea, a soldier of his country,
It is removed by the old flag red from the blood.
There is no swastika, Main Kampf-no, no fascism,
The throat is full of all this pseudo-patriotism,
There are so many fakes, so many fakes in the stands,
If the hand is a hand to the heart, the posers are to the top!
Only for the idea, only for their own and only right,
Put your yellow blue flag above the tricolor,
Despite the fact of the TV, everyone howls differently.
On the pores of hatred, on the pores of patriotism,
He kills the left, because the country owes his life,
He kills the left for the team, for the stands,
Giving them himself while someone is thumping in clubs.
Today he is at a desk, tomorrow he goes to the sector,
Today he has a jacket, tomorrow Lacosta Ketka,
Today he is like everyone else, today the joy blows around,
Tomorrow the enemy is in the mud, tomorrow in the blood all of Lonsdale.
Without this, without this, he himself is not his own,
All these banners are their charges behind their backs,
They cannot be understood, they cannot be caught, there are more than a million of them,
They are proud of the team, they breathe stadiums.
The blow is still a blow, white-blue, white-red,
OUZB and point-on become "dangerous",
OUZB Alliance, Fair Play screams on the field,
And now they go around it in the area,
Spends more on the exit than on new clothes
And new friends, and everything will not happen as before,
Closing his eyes to the fact that Faer burns his hand,
But the sight that will be so breathtaking.
Less Nazism, more nationalism,
For this coat of arms on the chest will be recognized as its own
For a new idea, a soldier of his country,
It is removed by the old flag red from the blood.
There is no swastika, Main Kampf-no, no fascism,
The throat is full of all this pseudo-patriotism,
There are so many fakes, so many fakes in the stands,
If the hand is a hand to the heart, the posers are to the top!
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