Текст песни Антон Чайка - Городу

It's hard to choose the only one from a lot of thoughts
Worthy of a couple of pages with a mysterious riddle
Change topic with new ideas quickly
Generation changes, all over again from scratch

In the city inscriptions of an extremist character
Stops Walls drove yesterday was clean there
And someone started another propaganda Stavropol
Stop thumping, leave the bottle to others

Car or walking at night here and there
Spray paint stencil, lettering read on
I would slow down the thought to think about where we are sailing
To whom we will show by example what we will leave when we fall asleep

And at night my city burns with beautiful lights
In some places screams, vanity, the crowd is drooling
But this is less common, and so is the yellow traffic light
Life, turn, brake or push all the way

Yes, and at dusk there are more taxi drivers
Than romantics or walking optimists
Citizens walk more often with a firm gait
Hanging in the center or in the area, choose

The same skyscrapers for the same project
Different people, some with their own dialect
In my city the winds blow without stopping
Bikes and scooters fly with the wind

Thank you Stavropol for giving his wife
The very best, I'm still a prisoner in her spell
Walking along the Ossetian to the center by the handle
Walk slowly, cutting meter by meter

To Lenin he is the same as in your city
Cold iron stands in the square in pigeons
Looking around you will see many interesting people
Sub culture, Life, while I walk past floors

Down Karl Marx and right to Tovar
Concierge, second floor, door hmm hello Ruslan
Minus in the headphones to the left of the microphone got up
Lines scattered around the city from block to block

Get the wrong reader, believe he won't be offended
He will do everything differently when he sees something again
Tells more interestingly in a different way will present
Follow the muse to the forest to the north when everything blooms

In summer, let everyone first meet love
The heart will melt and the Caucasian blood will boil
Peer somewhere in the crowd you will meet dear eyes
Those who traveled here all back and forth

Let them be the kind who will never lie
It's not black and white, it's great when souls are in bloom
They will find a way from the regional to the komsak through the forest
Many are afraid to swim and many grew up here

In the hands of a couple of pages of format a four
There is a mountain of thoughts in my head like a film in negative
You can endlessly manifest hundreds of phrases from thoughts
This is my Stavropol North Caucasus

Summer of the face, the regional capital flourishes
In one hand a crane in the other a large tit
Thoughts on paper, because I can't do otherwise
Heart in the microphone means a lot to me