Текст песни Баста - первый, второй...

Moscow burned to the ground, you are still in the ashes
Those who you could not conquer climb into the loop.
The stakes are too high and only brands have weight.
What is your pont and what is your rating.
People fly like skittles,
Yesterday, just mortality, adding today to Bentley,
Today you are the first, tomorrow no one will remember you
Moscow does not believe in tears, do not forget your roots.
Reach out if you have interest
There is nothing on the scales, only your personal weight,
It is important not to be kept on a fake blinding brilliance,
It is important to remain yourself, the way you are.
Here the first ones hang on the first in the company of models
In the summer in Monte Carlo, in the winter in Courchevel
Second, the third with trepidation waiting for the moment when the first fuck
And the third will be the second, and the second first.
Such is not intricate arithmetic
Align the nerves by stuffing themselves with neuroleptics.
What brought you here, what is your craft
Deliver pizza or word hope
Walk on the runway, advertise rags
Or dissolving in the crowd lie to the bottom,
Get in the office, live somewhere in Strogino,
Cursing work, the weather and the endless subway.
Moscow - all roads lead to the metropolis,
Ticket for bus, plane, or train.
First adapt to this mad rhythm
Get in motion, and we'll see ...
I do not know ... probably I was really lucky
I was just hoping for myself and my muzlo,
I met sensible people here
The community of views multiplied by the relationship of ideas
And five years in the heart of Mother Capital
Guys from the province realize their ambitions
And we have much to be proud of, we continue to swing the coast
Moscow...

Moscow, Moscow - to each their own alignment
What to become: to shine, or to disappear in the quicksand.
We are unlikely to be someone to look for
We have no way back, Moscow does not believe in tears

Moscow
Not far from where the Kremlin stands
Not far from the place where Lenin sleeps
There are three stations and trains on the tracks
Where even at ten o'clock in the evening
Where the temples are surrounded by outlets
Billboards on top of the great architects
I was in Sochi, Paris, Beijing New York
But Moscow is something that is especially torkat, yes
I have a Rostov registration in the crust,
But unwittingly, I took root here
We came and went
But to someone our simple records bring joy.
Moscow holds in the grip like a good stuff
Which is inserted and does not even think to let go
It happens will cover hard depresnyak
I do not know how to call it, perhaps urban melancholy.
I saw Moscow as a den or madhouse
Saw her like a youth looking at first love
I remember how, over time, the new district became native
And the removable hut reminded me of the house.
We have a great Don, here is the ancient river Moscow
And besides the emphasis and registration we have nothing to share.
Do not forget that I'm still visiting
And here, as with us, vagrants are asked in full for the joint.
Bay boiling water fresh Ti Guan Yin
We watch football on TV with Mitya and Kostyan
Although we perceive the world differently - along the way
Tea drinker listens to rap, remembering Beijing.
Count how things have changed, how much water has flowed.
I was often blind and led by a guide
I like your crazy rhythm Moscow never sleep
I like these streets, urban style
Luxury, yoga, feng shui, fashion trends
Roofs, operas, Black Star, velvet, fresh,
Face controls, dress codes, closed parties,
But I'm where the right rapchina is pumping.
From Kurskaya on the ring, on Kazakov Street
Radio, it's easy to meet friends
In the area gathered serious movement
Cargo with Masha, Coupe with Julia, Isa with Guf
In the tea pose, the favorite Vietnamese restik
Yes, we have long become local here.
And in this nine-story building on the top floor
We are planning a family budget with her.
From the house to the studio on foot 2 tracks in the player
In a cap, a fat woman and my favorite airies
Probably nothing new has told you about Moscow
Just the alignment in simple words ... Basta.