Lyrics Птаха аkа Зануда - Интро 2010
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Зануда
Папиросы... 2010 Зануда...
Мацао... Покойся с миром...
Мне 28, хотя я писал вам про это,
Я не забуду никогда то *баное лето,
Когда умер CENTR, а дружбу мы смыли в туалетах,
О них напоминают только с дисков проценты.
Вышли три альбома, как вы все и хотели,
Мы все реально старались, втроем, реально потели,
Но лучший ребенок - это все же наши "Качели",
Но качели завертели нас, как карусели.
Альбомы, гастроли, автографы, деньги и телек,
Гримерки, контракты, я не хочу лицемерить.
Я, как ребенок, был счастлив на первом в "Алоэ" концерте,
Где мы были втроем, где родился тот CENTR.
Но время - вода, и года пролетали.
Нас дико любили и часто нас дико ругали,
Но всю эту грязь смывали полные залы,
Под "Город Дорог", где вы качали руками.
Видосы Вконтакте, где нас слушают мамы,
Где наши текста читают какие-то парни.
Но теперь мы - враги, и в этом нет больше тайны,
Теперь я - Зануда, а Птахе и CENTR'у лишь память...
А Птахе и CENTR'у лишь память...
Покойся с миром... CENTR... R.I.P.
Поменять колею, но не сбиться с пути,
Эти темы избиты, как старые кроссы.
Впереди то, к чему стоит идти,
И пусть прошлое тлеет, как папиросы
Поменять колею, но не сбиться с пути,
Эти темы избиты, как старые кроссы.
Впереди то, к чему стоит идти,
И пусть прошлое тлеет, как папиросы.
Bore
Cigarettes ... 2010 Boring ...
Matsao ... Rest in peace ...
I'm 28, although I wrote to you about it,
I will never forget that summer,
When CENTR died, and we washed off the friendship in the toilets,
They are only reminiscent of discs with interest rates.
Three albums were released, as you all wanted,
We all really tried, three of us, really sweated,
But the best child is still our "Swing",
But the swing turned us like carousels.
Albums, tours, autographs, money and TV,
Make-up, contracts, I do not want to be hypocritical.
I, like a child, were happy at the first concert in "Aloe"
Where were the three of us, where was that CENTR born.
But time is water, and years have flown by.
We were wildly loved and often abused us wildly,
But all this mud was washed off by the full halls,
Under the "City of the Roads", where you shook hands.
Vidos Vkontakte, where we listen to moms,
Where our text is read by some guys.
But now we are enemies, and there is no more mystery in this,
Now I'm a bore, and Ptahye and CENTR are just a memory ...
And Ptahye and CENTR'u only memory ...
Rest in peace ... CENTR ... R.I.P.
Change the track, but do not go astray,
These topics are beaten, like old crosses.
Ahead of what it is worth to go,
And let the past smolder, like cigarettes
Change the track, but do not go astray,
These topics are beaten, like old crosses.
Ahead of what it is worth to go,
And let the past smolder, like cigarettes.
Cigarettes ... 2010 Boring ...
Matsao ... Rest in peace ...
I'm 28, although I wrote to you about it,
I will never forget that summer,
When CENTR died, and we washed off the friendship in the toilets,
They are only reminiscent of discs with interest rates.
Three albums were released, as you all wanted,
We all really tried, three of us, really sweated,
But the best child is still our "Swing",
But the swing turned us like carousels.
Albums, tours, autographs, money and TV,
Make-up, contracts, I do not want to be hypocritical.
I, like a child, were happy at the first concert in "Aloe"
Where were the three of us, where was that CENTR born.
But time is water, and years have flown by.
We were wildly loved and often abused us wildly,
But all this mud was washed off by the full halls,
Under the "City of the Roads", where you shook hands.
Vidos Vkontakte, where we listen to moms,
Where our text is read by some guys.
But now we are enemies, and there is no more mystery in this,
Now I'm a bore, and Ptahye and CENTR are just a memory ...
And Ptahye and CENTR'u only memory ...
Rest in peace ... CENTR ... R.I.P.
Change the track, but do not go astray,
These topics are beaten, like old crosses.
Ahead of what it is worth to go,
And let the past smolder, like cigarettes
Change the track, but do not go astray,
These topics are beaten, like old crosses.
Ahead of what it is worth to go,
And let the past smolder, like cigarettes.