Vitman - Gorbachev
текст песни

The clouds are gathering once again
He went out mushroom hunting—but we don't want a nuclear winter
This is our home, yet we’re searching for a place to hide
They claim the mafias are gone—but just look at where those political parties stand now
To hell with that executioner, while parents are weeping right now
To hell with their laws—the streets gave me my upbringing
All your money is stained with blood, even if your mansions gleam bright
To hell with all your corporations and private jets
I stand here without a suit, right in the middle of this hive
These acres of earth—that’s all that will remain of you in the end
My thoughts will no longer be kept under lock and key
Paper chasing—but we never aspired to be oligarchs
Just a hood kid—I’ve never even set foot in the upscale districts
We’re under immense pressure, yet they ask: "Why are you guys so uptight?"
I know one thing for sure: to them, we’re nothing more than scenery

They’ll drag me down to the precinct—just to carve out a bigger slice of the pie for themselves
He’ll go water his lawn, acting as if he had no part in any of this
I remember my mother standing right there, by that very spot
God saved me through music; for that, I remain forever grateful
No stylist needed—yet they keep calling in the squad cars
Stand by my side—we don't want to see those shells raining down
If this is all just for the sake of money, then know this: you’re all fucking morons
I catch their side-eyes, but I speak the truth right to their faces
You’d sing a different tune if you saw your own brother lying there
We’re all still so young—I haven't even learned to play the piano yet
I speak this truth, though I fear for my freedom—there is so much I still want to tell them
When I turned eighteen, I was still right here—writing these very bars

They claim that our generation is lost
But I know this much: we must wake up from these nightmares
Just look at who the true vandals really are
Sitting on a golden toilet—it’s entirely up to you to decide what legacy you’ll leave behind

The ground beneath us shakes ever harder, yet I stand my ground
I’ve taken the mic in my hands—hoping that, together, the two of us can pull through
I answer to no one but God above—we won't... We want to see all these bombs.
I’m a big stepper—even if I show up here barefoot.
I’m making my moves, but the ice beneath me is cracking.
I want them to take a seat at the table—but not to propose a toast.
Their hands are stained with blood, yet they invite us to join their dance.
He’s covered in red stains; I’m afraid he’s no Gorbachev.

That’s just how life is right now; I can’t write rap using cutesy, sugar-coated words.
There is only today and tomorrow; yesterday feels so painfully hard to recall.
I don’t know who these generals are, or any of the people ruling over us.
Right now, there’s only one feeling I can offer her—the sheer feeling of fear.
Mothers weep, yet they keep paying the price.
We understand less and less with every passing moment.
He said, "Expect no mercy—or else I’ll smash your faces in."
We played the silent game for far too long.
We were terrified of our own thoughts—after all, they were fed to us by the West.

I’m cut from a different cloth; I know it’s not over yet.
Tell me, which is harder to kick?
Stepping down from power, or getting off Percocet?
Stepping down from power, or getting off crack?
Damn it, I beg you—we aren't a chain; just get off our necks!