Текст песни Типси Тип - у самой лучшей матери сын отвратительный

(Tipsy Type)
from me one gray hair, my mother has a bad son
sit at home, lastly, just calm down
take it, ma, he’s not asking for a son, not eight for his son
need air while the body takes out, don't chase, don't chase
tfu you damn it, do not need me, take care of yourself, I love you
look, this is the world poking a finger at me
he challenged me, I agreed
mom alone loves me shameless
tuck your shirt, pull up your pants
took the gingerbread, breakfast tomorrow
you smoke weed I was told well this is not true of course
just yesterday in the arena, yes, in the sliders
today mom is crying, drunk Lesha painted a cop
a call from the regional department, I was kicked so Bosko, my mother went in and turned white
led down the stairs and someone with her bazaar
mumbled sorry, did not raise his eyes, which are empty
sister with mom without tantrums
threw off all the cabbage, reckon, not a loafer
that's what a brow house
gave birth to a sociopath with the talent of a poet and a comedian
but not a fagot or a fan of tectonics
not a sectarian, not a garbage-bobik
so what’s wrong, but the fact that his son’s thoughts are striving somewhere
because the smiles on the agenda of the military enlistment office, sends obscenities
What are you, of course except mother
Mom’s heart don’t touch, mine - on, take it ...

I will be better a little later necessarily
In the meantime, a rotten son with a good mother
There is a glass, there is a stain, snack, stretch
The best mother has a disgusting son

(Fur coat)
dad my miner is already twenty five years old
I'm ander rubbed to the skeleton’s brain
fruit of carnal pleasures of Valera and Vita
once under cognac, once killed
yes, ashamed in front of mom to a filthy son
I will hardly reach the ceiling of the paganini
fell like hoarfrost on the ground for brother’s pedestal
and for this dad a hundred pounds is justified
so much sadness behind him
the word mother in my spoken language is a punctuation mark
so how to please you a bad son
I would be happy to go forward, just push in the back
Well, why am I sour, what I sowed - that's what I’m fed up with
it's a pity the truth life has no reset button
I can’t change it, like the zodiac sign
went obliquely down like the applicate axis
seca on the site, circles under the eyes
I will hardly forget how to be slob
thank god my brother did not follow in the footsteps
so that I trodden low bow to you

I will be better a little later necessarily
In the meantime, my father’s filthy son
There is a glass, there is a stain, snack, stretch
The best Bati has a disgusting son