Lyrics Адаптация - Революции больше не будет
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Из подворотни доносится лай.
В грязном парадном - одну на троих.
После успеть добраться до дома,
Чтобы уснуть в тёплой постели.
Не тормозить, не выделяться,
Систематически гнать - догоняться.
Привыкнуть к тому, что вокруг всегда много
Козлов, пидорасов и прочего сброда.
Искусствоведы, эстеты, поэты,
Ценители женских вокалов, мамбеты,
Хозяева жизни, ура-патриоты,
Матёрый криминалитет.
Тоталитарные лозунги
В стране остывающих грёз.
Экзистенциальные дуры
Умеют плакать без слёз.
В их жадных глазах отражается небо,
Не давшее миру ни капли дождя,
Но в каждой отдельно взятой квартире
На стенке - портрет дорогого вождя.
Ещё один год, и нас снова надули,
Всё промифовали - нас нет.
Я вижу, я знаю: здесь РЕВОЛЮЦИИ НЕ БУДЕТ.
Мудаки захватили власть в моём городе.
Листья желтеют раньше времени.
Годы, заводы, эксперименты. -
Ты снова остался ни с чем.
Книжные черви старательно
Точат основы основ.
Воздух воняет рогатиной -
На ночь закроешь дверь на засов.
Радио голосом мёртвым
Будит людей ото сна,
Но в каждой отдельно взятой квартире
На стенке - портрет дорогого вождя.
Ещё один год, и нас снова надули,
Всё промифовали - нас нет.
Я вижу, я знаю: здесь РЕВОЛЮЦИИ НЕ БУДЕТ.
Barking comes from the gateway.
In a dirty parade room - one for three.
After having time to get to the house,
To sleep in a warm bed.
Do not brake, do not stand out,
Systematically drive - catching up.
Get used to the fact that there is always a lot around
Kozlov, fagots and other rabble.
Art historians, aesthetes, poets,
Connoisseurs of female vocals, mambets,
Owners of life, cheers, patriots,
Matyory criminals.
Totalitarian slogans
In the country cooling down dreams.
Existential fools
They know how to cry without tears.
In their greedy eyes the sky reflects,
Not giving the world a drop of rain,
But in every single apartment
On the wall is a portrait of an expensive leader.
Another year, and we were again pouted,
Everything was milled - we are not.
I see, I know: there will not be a REVOLUTION here.
The assholes seized power in my city.
The leaves turn yellow before time.
Years, plants, experiments. -
You again were left with nothing.
Bookworms are diligent
They ground the foundations.
The air stinks of horns -
At night, shut the door on the bolt.
Radio voice dead
It wakes people from a dream,
But in every single apartment
On the wall is a portrait of an expensive leader.
Another year, and we were again pouted,
Everything was milled - we are not.
I see, I know: there will not be a REVOLUTION here.
In a dirty parade room - one for three.
After having time to get to the house,
To sleep in a warm bed.
Do not brake, do not stand out,
Systematically drive - catching up.
Get used to the fact that there is always a lot around
Kozlov, fagots and other rabble.
Art historians, aesthetes, poets,
Connoisseurs of female vocals, mambets,
Owners of life, cheers, patriots,
Matyory criminals.
Totalitarian slogans
In the country cooling down dreams.
Existential fools
They know how to cry without tears.
In their greedy eyes the sky reflects,
Not giving the world a drop of rain,
But in every single apartment
On the wall is a portrait of an expensive leader.
Another year, and we were again pouted,
Everything was milled - we are not.
I see, I know: there will not be a REVOLUTION here.
The assholes seized power in my city.
The leaves turn yellow before time.
Years, plants, experiments. -
You again were left with nothing.
Bookworms are diligent
They ground the foundations.
The air stinks of horns -
At night, shut the door on the bolt.
Radio voice dead
It wakes people from a dream,
But in every single apartment
On the wall is a portrait of an expensive leader.
Another year, and we were again pouted,
Everything was milled - we are not.
I see, I know: there will not be a REVOLUTION here.